


Supernatural Adventures at Jibcon

by Elizabeth1985, ProfoundBondOfLove, Tennyo



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bodyswap, Cockles, F/M, Fan/Jensen Body Swap, Female Ejaculation, Freaky Friday - Freeform, Jensen discovers the hate on tumblr, Jensen wakes up in a fangirls body, Jus in Bello Convention, M/M, Misha has sex with Jensen as a girl, POV Fan, POV Jensen, Rome - Freeform, Tumblr, cockles being adorbs, fandom wank, jibcon, two friends get a very interesting fan experience at Jibcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfoundBondOfLove/pseuds/ProfoundBondOfLove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up with a dick is not how I expected Saturday morning at Jibcon to go. Good lord! How much did I have to drink? A few floors down, Jensen startles out of an unknown bed and screeches as he feels two foreign weights bounce on his chest. "Boobs!?!"</p><p>Over the course of a convention weekend, a fan and an actor trade places and find the grass isn't exactly greener on the other side. Will they be able to withstand the trials of life in the other's shoes? Moreover, can their supernatural switcheroo make a change and unite a fandom divided?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a dream (no doubt after seeing that post about wearing dicks on Friday's). The dream was relayed to Izzy--my future Jibcon partner in crime--and then to Tennyo, and then it exploded into a full story that we all had a hand in.
> 
> Artwork created by the lovely [Riley](http://glassclosetcastiel.tumblr.com)

CHAPTER ONE

Damn, these Hilton beds are _comfy_.

I roll over, half-asleep, to readjust within the mound of glorious cotton, and instantly I know something is wrong. Really _, really_ wrong. 

Most alarmingly, there's a weight at my groin that never existed before. My arms and legs feel heavier, sinking deeper into the bed. I'm tired as hell, and I can't figure out what's going—

It hits me like a brick. Or rather, _balls._

" _Ahhh!!!!"_ I scream my ass off. And it sounds wrong; all deep and rough.

"What the fuck?!" a sleepy, deep voice grumbles from my right.

Turning quickly, heart-pounding, I come to face to face with the downright impossible. _What the Holy hell?_ The degree to which my eyes have widened actually hurts them.

"Fuck. I've got to be dreaming," I mutter in stunned disbelief to the man with the blue eyes and disheveled brown locks. And yes, I am staring with disturbing intensity. This man, who I've instantly recognized, is none other than Misha Collins… Who's one of the main reasons I'd come to this con in the first place. This friggin' guy is like Jesus, with his good deeds and disarming smile.

Jesus, reincarnated, leans in close, "I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

I hear what he says, but his familiar voice is fuzzy and distant, getting lost in the turmoil of my startled brain. I'm overwhelmed by unnatural sensations. Overpoweringly, I'm aware that _I_ am not _me_. There is a foreign lump of body parts hanging between my thighs, annoyingly heavy and sweaty and sticky.

This has to be a dream, I tell myself as my heart rate leaps into the hundreds as each dawning realization compounds towards incredulity and panic.

I scream while flinging myself out of the bed. " _Gaaah_!!!" I'm fucking naked. If I wasn't sure before, I now know exactly who I've become. And that someone is naaaayked. And yup, there it is.

THERE. _IT_. IS.

"Oh my god, oh my god. What the fuck?! _WHAT_ THE Fuuucckkk?!?!?!" I'm being screechy, and still, my voice feels thicker, deeper, as if it's rising up from the bottom of my damn stomach.

Misha, the apparent dream figure of my intense imagination isn't fading the way a dream construct should and is, instead, staring at me like I should be checked into a mental hospital.  And shit, I probably should be. Because, I mean seriously, this can't actually be happening. This is not an episode of Supernatural.

"Who am I?" I ask shakily, despite having a pretty good idea. One thing's for certain, I sure as hell am not the five foot, one inch woman I went to bed as. I mean, sure, I'd been drunk… but COME _ON_! No one drinks enough to rye to wake up as a six-foot, sculpted, freckled, green-eyed man.

"Jensen, what's going on with you? You're freaking me out here."

My mouth is dragging on the floor. I'm sorry, did he actually say Jensen? I keep repeating this to myself. I'm at the damn con, I know the fuck who Jensen is. Fuck, that had been my suspicion in the first place, but hearing it, having the name directed at me is one hell of a tilt-a-whirl ride.

I can't help but glance down. Is that _THE_ Jensen " _it_ " between my ridiculously muscular thighs, that for someone previously familiar with a one-hundred-and-fifteen pound body can't seem to grasp the possibility that muscles can get this big. As I gape at my man-thighs and bizarre non-female junk, I fall into a daze of disbelief. Throughout my startled frozen state, Misha continues to stare, eyes drawing in closer as confusion reaches a high point. Before he can dredge up words of his own, I realize that I've got to say something.

"Uhm, what now?" I blurt out.

"Maybe we need to go to the hospital."

Unnerved even more than ten seconds ago, I shake my head violently. They'll say I'm crazy. I don't want to be crazy. Maybe I am crazy though… Maybe it's all a dream. This is a total legit dream for a fangirl to be having, right? Granted, most girls probably dream of having sex with Jensen, not becoming him! The depths of my relatability to Dean Winchester have certainly reached epic proportions. In that second, I realize... if I'm _him_ , then—

_Mother of Cats and Jesus._

"I need to make a phone call!" my words are shot out with sudden clarity, and persistent haste the way the recently imprisoned would make such a demand. I _need_ my fucking phone call.

A little rattled, Misha hands me what I assume is "my" phone. I swipe the bar and there's a lock screen. Roadblock number one.

"By any chance, do you know the number to this?" When I look up, his eyes are on my new man package. Without thinking, I shield myself with my big ass hand. "Uh, could ya not?" I say snarkily, cause it's weird, and I have a fucking dick now? What the h-e-double hockey sticks.

Hesitantly, Misha unlocks the phone, looking more and more worried by the second. I might as well calm the guy's eyebrows down a notch. Besides, this could still very well be a dream. Sure… of course it is.

"Relax, relax. I'm good. I know who I am. Everything's fine." I snort offhand, like I'm super chill and punch in _MY_ own number.

"Hello," a hesitant female voice answers.

"Hol-y. Shit." That is my voice. Not the one I'd normally hear in my head, but the one that sounds like my sister; the outward voice. But now I sound like a man— A MAN!

"Holy shit!" I, or him, or her says back. It's all very confusing.

Avoiding the curious assessment of the blue-eyed babe in the bed, mouthing at me: ' _Who's on the phone?_ ' I walk towards the bathroom, waving him off like it’s still all super cool and nothing to worry about. In the bathroom, things get crazy.

"What the goddamn hell is going on?" I whisper urgently into the phone, clutching the device against my ear.

"You fucking tell me!!! I woke up with boobs and some chick with a german accent is calling me Jodie!"

"I'm Jodie!" I say stupidly.

"Yeah I kinda figured," he snaps. "And I've got boobs. What the fuck?"

" _Boobs_?! Boobs are your biggest concern? I have junk that I don't know what to do with. You guys need fucking pockets for this shit. How do you walk properly?! By the way, your boyfriend’s freaking the fuck out."

"Oh god. What did you do? What did you say?"

"What should I say? ' _Uh, guess what secret lover, I've been body swapped. I'm really a chick who came to this damn con to fangirl and now I've got a dick and balls and I feel like a giant.'_ "

"Would ya stop hatin' on the dick and balls? And _my god_ are you short?!"

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?"

At this point, we both fall silent. It's unbelievable. It is NOT believable. And yet, here we are; me with junk, and him with—oh my god, he's gonna have to like pee and shit in my body. And then I'm sweating cause it's all super freaky and weirdly embarrassing.

It's him, with my voice that breaks the silence. "Look, take the room key, go down to the café and meet me there. Ten minutes alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Umm, quick question for ya. Actually, two questions…"

"Shoot," he says.

"First, what do I say to Misha? And second, how do I pee? Just like point and shoot—I really gotta go." The urgency of the need has me bouncing on my feet a little, and lemme say, that is hella weird. All I can think is ' _Boing-Boing.'_

Jensen laughs, it's weird. Because it's not my laugh. Jensen is laughing his laugh with my voice, and my head spins.

"Tell Mish you're going to get coffee and you better kiss him or he gets real grouchy. Umm, if he tries anything beyond that just make something up. Tell him you've got a headache or something that'll fend him off. Second, yeah, point and shoot. Damn, this is messed up."

"You're tellin' me…"

At that, we hang up and I look in the mirror finally. "Good god, I am a giant." Not to mention still naked. I avert my eyes cause I'm hoping desperately if I don't look, neither will he. Okay, so I might’ve caught a glimpse or two.

The adventure in man-peeing is weird and kind of funny. I have the ridiculous notion that it would be fun to pee my name in the snow if I could. Unfortunately there's no snow in Rome in May. Shrugging, I head out back into the bedroom.

"Are you feeling better?" Misha asks. It's apparent the guy is still on red alert, watching me like a hawk. I've no doubt he's another bout of freaking out away from calling an ambulance.

As I'm a dude now, I try to move around the room dude-like. Nonchalant, if you will. It's wicked strange walking with nuts FYI. I'm hyper-aware of their presence, fearing if I walk the wrong way I'll crush them. Thank god for bowlegs, am I right?

"Yeah, all good," I answer confidently. "Have a headache though. We, uh, had some night last night, huh?" And man I hope they did, 'cause otherwise this could set the radar spiking again.

"I guess. Didn't think you'd gotten that wasted."

"Must've hit me hard." I shrug and start trying to find some clothes.

The first pair of jeans I go after, I hear, "Those are mine. Yours are over there," he points to the table by the window.

 _My_ jeans are thrown on it. Gee, I wonder why jeans got thrown halfway across the room from the bed. Smiling awkwardly I walk over and throw them on. Then I realize I'd forgotten underwear, but I don't want Jensen to appear like more of a spaz so I just keep going, grabbing a shirt that I'm dead certain is Jensen's.

"Where are you going?" he asks, watching me carefully.

Crappity crap. Time to bust out the acting skills… of which, I have zero. "Oh, just going to get some coffee." I saunter over, feeling wired and freaked ‘cause I have to casually kiss Misha.

Casual, my ass.

Licking my lips, I lean over the bed and dive in, pretending it's my boyfriend. And then remembering that Jensen as me is going to have to call _my_ boyfriend soon and let him know I got here safely. That'll be fun.

Misha's lips are dry but warm, the kiss is quick and I'm already backing away when I'm grabbed by the shirt and yanked down onto him in a weird tumble.

"Hey now, whatchya doin there?" I stammer tensely.

"Just want to make sure you're really okay. You kinda freaked me out."

I smile as best I can, as smoothly as I can. "Everything's fine. I had a really fucked up dream. No worr— _IES!_ " I yelp a little when his hand slides over my thigh, a mischievous grin plastered to his face like he thinks he's gettin' some morning action.

Fuck, it's Misha and I can't help but giggle a little.

"That's more like it," he says.

Oh crap. "Sorry, _babe_ , not really in the mood. Need some coffee—I'll get ya some, k?"

The blue eyes I've seen in a million gifs and more squint and look me over. "Babe?" he repeats.

Shit. It's what I call my boyfriend.

"Uh." I shrug.

"I like it." Then he kisses me. I'm tempted to fangirl out right there and blow my cover. Instead, I keep hold of the calm awesomeness and smile wide.

Grabbing the cardkey by the door, I wave and throw myself out the door.

In the wide hallway, I'm hyperventilating.

"Okay, okay. Keep it together. This is fine. This is happening. So what if it's not a dream. Totally not super weird." I smooth my hands down my clothes and it's all wrong. I'm flat chested, but broad-chested.

"Juuuuust keep walking. You got this."

_-TWO DAYS EARLIER-_

“Would you quit teasing me?” Jensen tells his wife, head shaking irritably.

“What?” She’s mildly amused. “You guys haven’t had time together in a while, I’m just wondering if you have any romantic plans? Dinner, and ya know…” She winks suggestively at him.

Great, now she’s just saying it to bug him. She knows he gets excited to see Mish, but he doesn’t like it being made into an explicit point of humour.

“My god, some days you’re as bad as the fans.” Rubbing at his face, he tries to remember what he hasn’t packed yet.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m allowed to tease you about Misha. _Actually_ , I think I’m the only person allowed to tease you, considering, I, as your wife, give you permission to be with him.” Danneel’s brows are raised, waiting for him to make an argument against anything she’s just said.

And no way is he touching that landmine. Truth is, he knows how good he’s got it. But sometimes, the way he’d been brought up makes him touchy about the whole craziness that is his life. I mean, shit, if good ol’ Dad knew he was banging a male co-worker, not to mention madly in love with the guy… Oh and that his wife, and mother of his child was one-hundred percent on board, the man would probably have an aneurysm.

“I give up.” Jensen says, arms raised with a smile on his face. “You can tease me all you want. It’s just, I don't know. Lately, with the fans geared up about the what-if’s in the show, and the speculations about Mish and I, I’ve been edgy.”

“No shit. You’ve been snapping at me every time we talk about you guys.”

Crap, he has been, hasn’t he? Moving quickly, he walks over to where she’s standing by the tall dresser and pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry, hun. Didn't mean to be a jerk.” Rubbing her back and arms, he leans back so that he can give himself room to sneak in a kiss.

Due to the height of promotion that the show’s been getting lately, he worries what questions will get brought up this weekend. That damn sunset picture really set the fandom in a frenzy. And that was before Jared went and dropped the bomb about Cas being a mirror for Colette. Misha reaps great joy in sending him endless screenshots of fan commentary on the whole thing.

To distance himself from it all, Jensen’s been spending extra time in Austin on days off with Jared, Gen and the boys, because the fans take an inch and stretch it into a mile. How close some of them get to the truth has him more than a little creeped out, and the more time he spends with Mish really doesn’t help that. There’s a reason he used to avoid social media.

 _People are fucking nuts_ , is all he can think as he zips his luggage closed and mentally prepares himself for the weekend.

At least Danneel had been right; there is one aspect of the weekend he’s nearly giddy over. It’s been weeks since he and Mish spent quality time together. And Rome… Rome is theirs. Rome is the place where things happen.

Rome is the place where they feel free.

/\/\/\

The degree of fullness is enough to hurt. Izzy and I have just gorged ourselves on pasta, bread, appetizers, and wine. And now, we are groaning on the apartment bed with the unwatched episodes of Supernatural playing in the background.

“I think I’m gonna barf up my dinner.” I say roughly, rolling onto my side but having to angle my neck to still see the TV up on the wall across from the bed.

“Same.” Izzy sounds about as rough as I do.

We’d purposely stopped watching the show months ago so that we could bingewatch together in Rome--a great lead-up and anticipation to the con. The four or five episodes we’ve already watched have given us endless material for questions.

I met Izzy over a year ago after my expedited downward spiral into fandom. It started off with my being a total nerd and weirdo in the first place, and then this damn show came along. Interestingly, Supernatural is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a _great_ show--not in the way The Walking Dead or Shameless are great shows. The acting is at times incredible, but can be pretty crap, too. The storyline often leaves something to be desired. But there is this indefinable quality that has captured the hearts of millions. There’s no point in lying, the three hot leads of the show don’t hurt their cause.

The concept of shipping had always been a presence in my mind watching TV, not having an actual name for it until two years ago. The notion of gay ships had even less presence in my mind, and then certain characters came along, and I kinda just went, _Hmmm…_ followed by big fat question marks.

This led to a singular google inquiry. Precisely the following: “Do Dean and Cas ever end up together?” Keep in mind I’d begun from season one only after the show had seven years under its belt. The hits that came screaming back onto my open browser was the opening of a fandom portal. Needless to say, I was sucked down as hard as Dean’s sucked Castiel's cock in the numerous fics I’ve read since.

The culmination of my experience led to the inevitable conclusion that I must, without question, attend the famous JIBCON; A Supernatural Convention in Rome.

Since there was no way I was going alone, I put out a query on Tumblr, and it was Izzy who responded. Immediately she and I became incredible friends, separated by an ocean, connected by TV.

Jumping back to the present, on this Wednesday night in Italy, we two friends and certifiable fangirls are gearing up for our first convention.

We’ve filled the extended trip with touring the City, headcanon debates, fic rec comparisons, and our intricate detailing of a future fanfiction starring the ship that began our friendship.

Leading up to the con, as expected has been some fandom drama. In the last year, the gorge of hate between ships, fans, and the show itself has widened to epic proportions. Mob mentality is a close depiction of how things have escalated.

We’ve asked ourselves where it’s all going and if, at the show’s inevitable conclusion, what will be left of a once energetic loving group of fans all brought together by this one unlikely show.

The episode currently playing ends, the screen going black and we’re both too goddamn lazy to pick up the remote and click the next button.

“You do it,” she mutters grouchily. I laugh at her, since we’re both useless human beings right now.

“If I man the remote, you have to play with my hair.” I should mention that I will accept hair playing from any living thing that offers. On many occasions I’ve even taken on cat-like mannerisms and just rubbed my head against people’s arms and stuff. It’s a tragedy that this type of behaviour is not readily accepted in society. Gratefully, Izzy knows and is amused by the hair-playing whore that I am. Without debate, it was a condition of our trip together. She probably thought I was joking, haha. I’m such a butthead.

Chuckling tiredly, she says, “Deal.” _Ahh_ , what a great friend, I smile dumbly.

Heaving myself halfway off the bed, groaning like I’m eighty instead of, well, let’s call it twenty-five, alright? I grab the remote from the nightstand and squash the rubber button.

The new episode splashes on the screen and we both sigh that the momentous task is done and over with. Twisting and flopping over, I plant my head by her thigh like the cat that I am and as she starts playing with my hair, I know that I’m probably just gonna fall asleep during it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

_-FRIDAY-_

The atmosphere is alight with excitement, and it always gets him fired up. Seeing all the fans, their energy, their love for the show--it’s intoxicating. You’d think the novelty of it would’ve worn off, but it hasn’t. Each time feels as surreal as the last; being up there on the stage, the lights on you, people tuned in to whatever you say.

He isn’t nearly as nervous as he used to be. Still, Jensen licks his lips, and his hand is a bit sweaty wrapped around the mic.

It's the afternoon opening, the band is playing and everyone is hyped. Chiming in on ‘Carry On’, Jensen fully gets into the feel of the weekend. He can’t help but sneak a peek over at Mish, giving him a knowing smile as he sings, moving his hips just enough to be a tease.

Mish shakes his head at him, giving him that devilish smirk that always makes Jensen a little nervous. They’re gonna have a damn good night, he thinks.

Later in the evening, a whole bunch of cast members; past and present, are up on the stage and occasionally answering questions. Most of the Q&A is pretty chill. _Where’s the story going? Will Cas ever get his grace back? Is Cas gonna DIE?!_ Yadda, yadda.

And then, like he knew it would happen, a girl whose age he’s not sure of, gets time on the mic. And here it comes, he thinks.

“This question I suppose is for Misha. And also Jensen.” Inwardly, Jensen groans. He knows exactly where this is leading. “There’s been a lot of parts in this season that sort of allude Castiel might have feelings for Dean. For example, the scene of him in bed saying he misses Dean. It’s sort of…leading.”

Way to skirt around saying the show queerbaits, he thinks. The ridiculous part is that they’re not crazy. Apparently the showrunners are keeping that storyline open, regardless of whether they go there or not. What pisses him off about the damn questions is that  they’re not allowed to say anything about the multiple possible avenues the show could go in. Fucking NDA's can be a real PR bitch.

Misha’s talking away, and he finally shuts down his inner ramble to tune in.

“... clear that Castiel cares very much for Dean. There’s a definite vibe, of course. Um, whether they’re friends, or more, uh… Just have to wait and see, huh?” Misha winks and Jensen wants to smack him. It’s crap like this that gets the guy in trouble with PR. Unfortunately, Misha’s done so much for the show’s long-running status that they know they can’t scold him that bad no matter what the guy says.

_Ah, shit. Those damn eyes are on me now._

“Uhm, well, yeah I mean. I agree with Mish. There definitely seems to be of bit longing on Cas’ face there.” He tries to joke, smiling crookedly. “But ya know, they’re just close. They’re friends.”

Someone from the crowd snorts, and mocks the word. “Friends,” they say bitterly.

It’s hard to hide how badly you want to grind your molars when shit like this is going on. Thankfully, in the blink of an eye, it’s gone. The next question is directed at Mark, and thank God. Rubbing the back of his neck, pretending to listen to the back and forth, he can feel Misha’s eyes on him.

That night, after the scheduled crap is done, it's time to party. It’s a damn relief, and even though there’s a heck of a lot more until the weekend is done, at least now, this is his favourite part. Strolling through the familiar streets, trying valiantly not to reach and hold Misha’s hand.

“Sucks being in public, doesn’t it?” Mish says, eyeing him like he wished they were pants down in an alley somewhere.

“Always.” Taking a quick look around, seeing the other stragglers moving about oblivious, he leans over to bump shoulders, quickly running his hand in Misha’s, fingering down his palm and giving him a smile that says he’s more than ready to get back to their hotel room.

“I snuck in some wine earlier.” Mish tells him, licking his lips.

“Sounds like a good night to me.”

They pick up the pace and manage to find themselves back in the privacy of their room in a short thirty minutes. Dinner had been great, pre-drinks with some of the other peeps too. But now, _now,_ he wants to get crazy.

Glass after glass is downed. And boy, he’s tipsy now, crowding over Mish at the end of the bed, climbing on top of his lap. The wine in hand is wobbling, nearly tipping over the side, but who the fuck cares.

“Jen,” Mish breathes gruffly in the midst of heated making out. Misha’s mouth tastes like Gavi and its a little light and citrusy and damn delicious.

There’s nothing to say back. He gets it. He _totally_ gets it. Grinding himself down, feeling that familiar ridge rub up against his junk he can’t help but squeeze his arms tighter around Mish’ upper body, a hand reaching up to yank his hair. _Mmm_ , and pulling it back so that he can get access to the sensitive flesh of his neck.

Sucking there never fails to make Mish giggle and moan simultaneously and Jensen fucking _loves_ it. Of course, it also sends them into maelstrom of frantic arousal. The slow burn kicks up to a raging fire, and Jensen's no longer satisfied simply grinding himself in Misha's lap.

“Clothes. Off,” he grumbles against Misha’s throat, pushing his hands between them to start yanking at fabric.

Being drunk and uncoordinated proves this a difficult task, and when an item is finally freed of their bodies, it gets flung as far away as possible. When their skin fully meets, its electrifying. After that, their efforts become clumsy, though without loss of enthusiasm.  

 

The details get blurred into a heated press of bodies and hands, mouths and skin. The wine in his system makes it all fuzzy around the edges, but no less fantastic. Soft, warm skin soon becomes hot and sweaty. Wet mouths desperate for each other and air. There’s building pressure, then release. Fucking downright bliss, made better with the aid of the alcohol hazing through his system.

As he’s drifting off to sleep with the smell of their sex saturating the room, and the raunchy words of their dirty talk floating around his tipsy brain, he’s damn excited for tomorrow. And maybe… _maybe_ … he’ll get some morning sex if he’s lucky. 

The last second, that single breath, before Jensen’s subconscious rolls over him, he feels something strange. And maybe his drunken eyes are playing tricks on him, but that shadow that moves near the window seems ominous, almost human-shaped. But by now, the wine is pulling him down and it's all chalked up to a dream.

_-PRESENT-_

Somehow, I manage to get down to the lobby. Everything looks weird through different eyes. Everyone and everything seems so much smaller.

Mostly, I feel awkward. Moving these large legs and swinging my long monkey arms, I think people are all staring cause I’m a freak. But then it occurs to me that I’m actually walking around as Jensen-motherfucking-Ackles, and realistically, this is why they are staring. It’s fucking trippy.

I reach the cafe, and sitting there with a monstrous cup of coffee is, well, _me._

Talk about funhouse mirrors or what.

I forego the java myself and beeline for the table. The first thing that comes out of my mouth is a laugh, because the hair… oh god the hair is fucking hilarious.

“What did you do?” I ask, chuckling, and nodding towards the top of his/my head.

“I tried to put it up in an elastic, which broke, and then I gave up.”

I smile. “I see that. It’s, umm, special-looking.”

The face I’ve seen reversed in the mirror shoots me a dry look. It’s insanely bizarre.

“So, my friend Izzy, is she freaking? Is she suspicious?”

“Nah, I told her I had a weird dream, which she then demanded I tell her about. So I made up some crazy story about being chased by a herd of elephants.”

“A herd of elephants. That’s the best you could do?” I’m shaking my head, and finally lower into the seat which feels like I’ve just descended eight storeys to get to.

“I was distracted by the whole… ya know… waking up a woman thing.”

“Yeah, that’ll rattle the brain for sure.”

And then we’re staring, both freaked by the funhouse mirror effect. Both our eyes narrow, heads tilt, and finally we both clear our throats awkwardly.

“What now?”

“Fucked if I know.” I shoot back.

“Well how did this happen?”

I scrunch up my face, “What the heck makes you think I know?”

“Cause you’re a fan.” The way he says it… so confidently. Like, of- _fucking_ -course, it’s got to be a crazy fan that body-swaps me.

“Excuse me?” I don’t hide my offense in the least.

At least he has the smarts to look guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh sure you did, but regardless, I didn’t do this.” I reply, gesturing between us.

“Neither did I.”

“Well, we’re pretty fucked then, eh?”

Out of nowhere, he barks a laugh, which sounds all wrong coming out of me. Then says, “Oh god, don’t say ‘eh’ around Mish, that’s a dead give-away.” Annoyingly, he’s still chuckling over my Canadian status. I’m tempted to kick his shin under the table.

“Oh, whatever Texan.”

We both come to terms with the jibes and rattle our brains for answers. So far, I’ve got zilch, and so that’s what I tell him.

“Were you drunk last night,” he wonders, tipping his head sideways. The mess he’s made of my hair flops sideways and a part of me wants to get up and fix it. But I don’t.

“Who wasn’t drunk last night?” I answer. The whole damn con was wasted from what I saw.

We run through locations and timelines but none of it seems to match. After a slew of random questions, he realizes that I was the one to ask the hinted Destiel question the day before. I hadn’t wanted to, but this season had simply gone too far. So, I’d taken one for the team. Willing to let myself be ridiculed for the sake of asking the questions that needed to be asked. Because, let’s face it, shit’s getting hard to ignore.

All this I say to him. Remarkably, he listens without the jaw-grinding I’d expected. And I have to say I’m grateful. My teeth are sensitive and I doubt they’d handle the bump’n’grind all that well.

It takes him a moment to say anything. Sighing, it’s like he made a decision.

“Mish is right. Ya’ll aren’t wrong.” Heh. And there’s my Canadian voice with a Texan drawl. “There’s always open plot points, and yeah, the whole Dean and Cas thing is maybe one of ‘em. But who the hell knows if it will ever come to fruition. I don’t even know if I want it to. I’ve never outright lied. This show’s always been about fighting, and family, and bad shit happening, and then overcoming the bad shit. It was never about love connections and all that romantic crap. And I’m not saying I’m totally against it, I’m just saying it’s hard to fit with the show, I--” Jensen debuting as thirty-year old me, presses his lips together and shakes his head. “--What do you want me to say?” He asks ultimately.

Framed so pointed and direct, I’m not sure how to answer. Here I’d expected to come down to this cafe and figure out why we’d become Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan. Instead, we’re having a nearly political debate about the prospect of depicted romance on the damn show.

“I don’t really want you to say anything. I guess most fans are just hoping that you’ll learn to see the show how we see the show. And besides, the show’s been on for ten years. You really think it’s simply fighting monsters that hold that afloat? It’s the relationships, and the possibility of the triumph of love that people cling to. Not to mention representation. I mean for fucks sake you can’t tell me if Mish had been a woman, they wouldn’t have gone there.”

Jensen laughs. “Oh they would have. But then Castiel would have died… and I wouldn’t have Mish. See, everything happens for a reason.”

I can’t help but chuckle. My mother says those very same words. _Everything happens for a reason_. On that note, I have to ask.

“So if everything does happen for a reason, what’s the reason for this?” I wonder, pointing to each of us and our current Freaky Friday situation.

I watch my own face turn thoughtful, and it’s intriguing, seeing my features take on different mannerisms. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re meant to see the other side.”

“Maybe,” I concede, shrugging.

“Unfortunately, for now, it seems we’re stuck this way, let’s at least try and get back on track. You’ve got a full schedule and you can’t miss any of it.”

Ah, shit. “This blows!” I did not come here to work. I don’t even know what to do.

“Yeah, welcome to my world. Ok, I’m gonna write everything out, and you can text me if you need help. Just make sure that if you see yourself coming over to let the security know you’re good. Or I’m good… you get the idea.”

I nod loosely. The whole thing is craaaaazy. “Alrighty then. Well, you need to go to everything I’ve got. Izzy will figure it out for you, just act like you’re confused and don’t know what the hell’s going on. Also, all my pass stuff should be somewhere in the room.“ And then I remember. “ _Shit_. You need to call my boyfriend and tell him I got here okay. Do it now so I can listen in.”

“Ugh, seriously?”

“Yes! Now pick up my phone.”

This little adventure is interesting. I’d already been in Rome since the beginning of the week, but just only recently made it to this part, switching from the apartment to the hotel. At this point, the bf is missing me hard and is all mushy on the phone. It’s too funny to see Jensen navigate that one.

“I love you too, babe.” Jensen says awkwardly, making me sound fake. I’m scowling at him from the other side of the table.

He rolls his eyes after he hangs up. “Wow, he _really_ misses you.”

“I know. But, hey, at least he’s not here trying to sleep with you, like say, oh, your boyfriend.”

Jensen frowns comically. “Yeah, sorry about that. He’s a horny guy. But then again so am-- _Never mind._ ”

I can’t help but snort. “Riiiight. So what do I do about Misha? I need to spend the whole weekend with the guy--” And then it hits me… What if this is permanent?! “Oh my god, what if the weekend ends and we’re still each other. Gah! Okay, we get through the day and everything but we need to figure this shit out, like pronto mister.”

A girl walking by overhears me call a seemingly younger woman ‘mister’ and I’m shot a strange look. I sneer at her.

“Hey hey, you can’t be rude to people, you’re me, remember?” Jensen scolds. This means I have to be on my best behaviour. Ha! We are so royally screwed. “And don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. I’ll discreetly ask around. There’s gotta be some crazy fans that know something.”

“Would ya cut it out with the crazy talk?”

“As long as you promise not to explore.” He raises a brow significantly.

I squint right back, knowing exactly what he means. “Pfft, you need to damn well promise to do the same.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

Secretly, I think we’re both lying. I mean, how often, if ever, does someone get to wake up as a physiologically different person, not to mention a different gender. Fall asleep with the feel of breasts and wake up with the feel of a Johnson between your muscular thighs. Like Whoa Nelly.

Over the next twenty minutes, time running short, we sort out details. Where who has to be when, and what not to say, and what not to do, and if you’re not sure call, and bla bla.

Before I head up back to the room to change (because apparently I can’t wear the same clothes I had on last night), Jensen makes sure to get the two coffees for ‘me’ and Mish, ordered the proper way for each.

On the way back to the tenth floor, scalding paper cups in my hands, I’m feeling a little more sure that I can do this. That I can go through the day as someone else. In the back of my mind I’m a bit terrified I’m gonna get this guy fired somehow.

I’m not in any way prepared for what happens when I open the hotel door. Eyes laser focused on holding the key and the two coffees, I don’t notice immediately.

And then I do. Oh fuck, do I see it.

All of it.

“Well he didn’t prepare me for this.” I mutter to myself.

Misha, naked and stroking himself on the bed smiles. “Prepare?” he asks quizzically. “I can prepare you,” he tacks on mischievously.

The blood drains from my face. And _Oh_ , goes straight to that new dick I’ve got. With my eyes now bugged out, I walk to the table, feeling like a robot, put the cups down and then the keycard. I take one last look at the bed and make headway towards the bathroom door.

I lock myself in. Because who the hell knows what I’d do otherwise.

It doesn’t take long for Misha to start knocking on it. “Hey, are you okay? Fuck, you’re being really weird, Jen. Talk to me.”

I blurt the first thing I can think of. “Sorry, I’ve got the shits.” My face is beet red, I’m sure. But hey, it’s a good way to shut things down, right? That has _got_ to kill the vibe for sure.

Without missing a beat, Misha’s all like, “Well that sucks. Guess I’ll have to finish myself off.”

Good god, the fucking torture.

Not so surprisingly, I’m late to the first event that I need to be present at. The photo op. The SINGLE JENSEN PHOTO OP.

Let me tell ya, being swooned over by girls, when you are a straight girl, is weirdly exciting. I giggled a lot. They all probably think I’m a nutjob. And I’m certain, about halfway through, one of the girls says, “I think he’s high.”

Fuckin’ wish I was, I think.

Izzy, my friend, pops up next in line. And it’s obvious she’s got no clue. She’s clearly psyched for the Jensen photo op, and I decide I’m gonna make her day with it.

Funnily enough, in line with her is Jensen starring as me. He looks mightily disgruntled. All the fans around him are not doubt blabbing about things that is normally reserved for the relative privacy bubble that is Tumblr.

Because I’m feeling a bit high on the absurdity of it all, I wink at him, trying to give his cocky smile back to himself. The face looking back at me doesn’t look pleased.

Izzy walks up and I can barely contain myself. I want to do something wildly inappropriate but have to rein it in lest Jensen gets fired for some kind of indecent conduct clause.

Like I’ve been doing for the last forty minutes, I ask her if she has a pose in mind, or can I suggest one.

“Uh, how about a hug?”

I smile kindly. “How about something even better?”

Of course, Jensen snaps his head up, eyes zeroing in on whatever the hell I’m about to do. No more than three feet away, he pipes up. “Too bad _I_ didn’t buy a Jensen photo op.” There’s a tone in there, and I’m tempted to scowl but, again, I must be on my best behaviour.

“Yeah, it sucks they’re expensive as all hell, huh?” My words make him shrink back, turning my former face into a shade of sheepish pink.

I get back to the pose in mind, stepping behind my friend, now monstrously taller than her and reach around to hold her around the waist. It’s funny that I can tell she’s buzzed and antsy. To make matters worse, right before the picture is snapped, I lean down and whisper in her ear: “Cockles is real”.

She squawks and whips around to gape at me. Knowing how it’ll look having seen it in several gifs, I wink and smirk at her.  What do you know, this is gettin’ fun.

Jensen, standing too far to have heard me is looking mighty nervous about whatever I said to make her beam like she’s just been given a gazillion dollars.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

This can’t be happening, thinks Jensen. Feeling oddly left out, which is damn stupid, he watches the interaction between the woman wearing his skin and the girl he’s now sharing a room with. And whatever Jodie just said is causing some kind of ruckus for Izzy--which he will no doubt hear about in a matter of seconds.

The friend leaps over and throws her arms around him. He still can’t get used to being so short. Izzy is a good five or six inches taller.

Right into his ear, she whispers excitedly, “You will NOT fucking believe what he just said to me!”

Jensen tries to hide his fear. “No clue. What’d sh- _he_ say?”

“I shit you not, he said the following: COCKLES IS REAL.”

Immediately, his reaction is not what she expected. The tired grimace is a far cry from the elated leaping that was no doubt what she’d been hoping for. Not wanting to destroy the ruse he and Jodie have going, he starts jumping up and down and shrieking.

“Oh my god!!!” He shouts, flailing. Jensen thinks that at least through this he’ll have gained some wildly “supernatural” acting experience.

Ultimately, they _both_ calm down… Because let’s face it, he may have gotten a bit exhilarated by the jumping and joy of Cockles himself. Based on his own experience, Cockles _is_ pretty damn awesome. Besides, he’s never felt he could jump around like that as a guy. When he meets her eyes, nearly the same colour as his normally are, her smile changes quickly to a frown.

“It was probably just a joke. I can’t believe I even fell for it.” The frown grows quickly to anger and somehow, he’s left feeling guilty. “They shouldn’t tease that stuff. It makes me so angry. How can they do that? We’re always hoping for a little bit of something and then they go and make fun of us. _UGH!_ ”

He wishes he could tell her that he’s never meant to be cruel. But the words would be meaningless coming from someone else. Instead, he tries to lift her spirits with a happy truth--even if she doesn’t believe him.

“Hey, ya know what, it’s probably, absolutely, true,” he says. Spurred on by the ability to finally say it outloud; not something that happens often when dealing with fans, he blabs on, “I mean, for all the fans know those two could be madly in love, spending every damn minute they can together. And hell, maybe even last night they had some wicked awesome sex. Of which I can barely remember because I was drunk.”

Looking at the frozen blank look on her face, Jensen realizes he’s massively slipped up. “I mean _he_ can barely remember. Obviously.” Giving a smile, he hopes she accepts his slip up.

“Man, you’re being weird today. But whatever, It doesn’t matter what we all think, it matters that he constantly makes jokes about possible gay relationships. Like I was telling you this  morning, he always puts his foot in his mouth.”

It stings the same as it did this morning. It had been a lucky break that when he’d freaked on first waking up with breasts, she’d been groggy and hungover. But once he’d come back to the room after being down in the cafe, that’s when he’d had to really put his acting skills to the test.

It wasn’t easy when she’d called him out like that.

Feeling horrible, he tries to assuage her opinion. “Maybe he just wasn’t brought up to be so chill about things like that.” Biting his new lip, he shrugs.

“Then someone needs to tell him to grow the fuck up.”

That feels like a slap. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe not. He’s always tried to be considerate, but often times words just jump out of his mouth--ingrained answers learned from being raised in a culture of close-minded men and women. They’re not bad people, really. They just have limited experience and exposure to the world. Damn, even thinking it, he can nearly hear Mish snorting.

“I’m sure he probably knows,” Jensen finally answers. “So, what’s next on the agenda?”

They end up at the Osric panel after that. He enjoys himself more than he imagined he would. Izzy, himself, and some of the other girls break out into conversations and he sits there, dazed, getting the inside scoop on what people really think.

And man, the theories alone are impressive. At some point, it gets serious.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting so tired of the same old shit the show’s pullin’.”

“Oh, man, I hear ya. How do they not see it?”

“See what?” Jensen chimes in.

“Fuck me sideways, where do I begin?! Hold up—You are a Destiel shipper, right?”

Ha ha! Oh god, what would Jodie say? “One hundred percent!” Izzy smiles knowingly, so he’s sure he nailed that one.

“Good, just making sure you weren’t one of the hater squad.” Affably, he shakes his head. “Let’s take it from the top…” she begins.

By now, Osric’s panel is done and the next one won’t begin for another forty minutes so there’s nothing to interrupt the vibrant woman as she goes into significant detail on all the components leading up to The Greatest Ship Ever.

The first meeting in the barn, where apparently “Dean” seemed a bit wowed by Cas’ debut. There’s no point in adding Jensen, himself, was a little stunned by the new guy.

And then there’s their little talk in Bobby’s kitchen, standing intimately close. Evidently in this scene, “Dean” had looked aroused. This is news to him. Though, he does remember Mish standing real close for that scene, getting all up in his face, staring hard into his eyes.

Jensen sums up the whole conversation as: Dean checking out dudes, Dean giving Cas sex eyes, and vice versa, lots and lots of staring, Dean breaking through Naomi’s spell, the infamous “boner” scene—and boy, is he gonna have to rewatch his own fucking show. They even get into it about scenery, the shirts Dean wears, and something about cake versus pie.

There’s endless so-called evidence, and by the end of it he can’t believe how so many people have gotten so attached to this one relationship. By avoiding questions on the topic, he’s managed to steer clear of as much fandom shipping as possible.

But now, he’s almost fucking convinced of the whole damn thing. Maybe one or two of their points he could be like, nah, you’re just reading into it too much. But the list is too long to reason away. There’s a voice now in his head that teases the whole Dean-Cas notion. Lost in his own thoughts, he pictures it coming to life and finds it’s, surprisingly, exciting. Christ, I’m fangirling over myself, Jensen thinks with a flare of self-disgust.

Someone blurts out that maybe all we’re seeing is the Cockles bleeding through. A hysterical laugh bubbles out of him, all chirpy and girl-like and he’s sure his cheeks are burning.

Not even knowing the other girls names, he turns to Izzy, “Tell me, why is the Dean-Cas thing so important to you?”

Her sculpted eyebrows bend together in confusion, “You know why.”

“Yeah, sure, but they don’t.” He nods to the others. “C’mon, we’re all getting to know each other.”

There’s a flash of suspicion that darkens her green eyes and he wonders how inconsistent he’s being in his role.

“Alriiiight."

…

The panel after is a larger one with many guests. Jensen is enjoying their comedic routines and finds himself relaxing within the anonymity of his current situation. In the back of his mind, however, the conversations with the girls after Osric's panel has left him uneasy.

Twenty minutes into the panel and Mark a.k.a Lucifer, is miming sex moves at Richard's back and everyone's in stitches. Surprising everyone, Jared comes rushing out to crash the panel like many of them tend to do.

The group calms down and opens up the floor to comments and questions. The first one, right off the bat, is a straight shot on the whole queerbaiting issue. It dampens the entire feel of the panel. Jensen's teeth grind. Sure, he gets what some of the girls were saying before—how they see things that might be there. But to bring it up like this and peg them with a question they've got no way to answer in a way that'll satisfy everyone royally ticks him off. It's Jared, the unofficial crasher, that takes point. Not that Jensen is surprised. His friend explains the show’s main purpose: Two brothers, fightin' evil, no room for romance. But then again, Jared’s always been big on the brothers being the main focus of the show.

"So ein dummes Geschwätz!!” Izzy blurts. Jensen may not know German, but he's damn sure that was a curse, even though it sounded like so-aye-nne-dumbass-gef-splat or something. And she doesn't stop there, "Fuck. I've had it with their tagline bullshit."

Jensen reels with second-hand offence. "Don't hate on Jare, he's right. The show's not about love. It never was, and it isn't now. When the hell did the show become some ridiculous target for queer representation? I'm not saying I'm against gay people on TV, I'm not, I'm just saying not every show needs to have it just to have it. Everyone's getting a little out of hand bashing on the show for its lack of representation. I mean shit, we get flack about every damn thing. Christ, there's like four main characters now, how fucking diverse can ya even get?!"

Ending his rant, Jensen raises his brows as he angles over to meet Izzy's eyes. They're wide, framed by a stoic expression he can’t make sense of.

"What?" he asks. Maybe he'd veered slightly out of character there, but c'mon some fans have got to see his point.

"So… let me get this right," she says. "You're saying representation isn't important for this show?"

This is probably a trap. "I'm saying that why is it necessary to be pushed on the show? Does every show and every movie and everything _ever_ have to have representation for every damn thing? Women, visible minorities, gay, trans, etcetera. _Really_?"

Izzy sucks back a breath and faintly shakes her head from side to side. The fact that she's suddenly at a loss for words is a problem.

"I can't—" She breaks off. "Nevermind."

"Hey look," Jensen attempts an apology. "I ain't sayin' I don't want it for the show, or that it's the worst idea ever, all I'm saying is that y’all are being damn harsh on uh—the actors—and there's really nothing they can do anyway."

She doesn't turn back to him, but the anger that had shown in the flat lines of her sculpted eyebrows has softened, almost like she has half a mind to cry. Instead, a hint of confusion passes over her features.

It's a rough, awkward tension that takes over the space between them for the rest of the hour. On the way to their room Jensen's adjusting his clothes, being a tighter fit than guys' tend to be, when Izzy stops and turns to him.

“I don’t know why you said what you did back there, I don’t know if you’re in a mood. But something’s off.”

Jensen shrugs, half turning away to stare at a safety poster on the wall, written in multiple languages. “I dunno. We sure drank a lot last night, and I’ve felt kind of weird ever since waking up from that elephant dream."

Izzy’s voice is cold when she responds, “You sounded like a destiewer back there, and I was waiting for your head to spin around, and for you to vomit everywhere. That’s more than just a little weird.”

Jensen can’t think of anything to say, so he just shrugs.

They’re walking towards the elevator and she keeps shifting back to eye him in the strangest way. Whether or not she’s still pissed, he doesn’t know. And, fuck, he hopes he doesn’t trash their friendship.

She reaches the metal doors before he does, and once in the elevator she turns to face outward. As he slides in and reaches out to tap the button for the fourth floor, he takes note of her scanning him over. Frig, is his former maleness showing somehow?

The elevator lurches upwards. After a moment of tense silence, Izzy turns to face him.

"Can I ask you something?"

He's suspicious, and eyes her sideways. "Sure…"

"Did you remember to email that link to your brother?"

Fuck. This is how she dives back into talking to him?

Casually, he shrugs. "Uh, yeah. Fired it off this morning."

In a stiff reply, she says, "Right. Good."

The rest of the way to the room, Jensen wonders what the hell link he was supposed to send to Jodie's brother. Making a mental note, he tries to remember to ask her about it later. 

/\/\/\

The never-ending smiling is beginning to hurt my face. And one problem I never thought I’d have is having to fend off Misha. The guy is damn relentless.

After the photo ops were done, I had a meet’n’greet, and then signing. The first scribbled ‘ _Jensen Ackles_ ’ I butchered and I vowed to remember who this fan was to make sure Jensen, the actual Jensen, sends her something way better. After a few of them, I managed to perfect it, having seen it countless times and being a bit of an autograph expert myself. I was only ten when I’d manage to perfect both my mother’s and my father’s signatures.

Now, with all that over, there’s some time to kill before the next event. There’s some kind of party tonight. For now, I need food. Badly. My stomach is grumbling and I don’t know if it’s this body or the stress but I feel like I could eat a mountainous amount of food right now.

Just as I’m trying to sneak off to get something from wherever, Misha is jogging after me.

“Hey, where you going?” He asks, a bit thrown off.

“Ahhh… wherever you are!” What a save!

“We have reservations, remember?”

Reminder: Smack Jensen for not telling me about this.

“Yes, of course! Is that now, or later? I don’t remember. But I’m starving.”

Still dubious, he manages a laugh. “Soon. We have forty minutes to get there and it’s not too far.”

I’ve got the math working in my head now: Forty minutes till we sit down, another ten to get food ordered, and then another twenty or so to actually get the food. I’m gonna pass out before that happens.

“I need food now.”

Misha chuckles. “Aren’t you lucky I brought snacks. C’mon, let’s head back up to our room, grab a snack, and get in some groping, maybe?”

Yikes. But the snacks call to me and my much larger stomach capacity. “Sure… Why not.”

I figure I can find some way to get out of the second part of his invitation.

On our way down the hall, a lot of con goers still milling about, all I can hear is their wild chatter. Add onto that the looks Misha and I are getting, and it’s flat-out weird. To be fair, I’d be looking too, I’m sure. But now, being on the receiving end, I get how it feels a bit… uncomfortable.

“It’s always like this?” I half-ask, half-state.

“Still gets to you, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Looking over my shoulder, watching endless sets of eyes cataloguing our every damn move, I realize that yeah, it fucking pisses me off.

“I told you before, you just have to pretend there’s no one around.”

“Easier said than done.” I mutter. It’s like ants on the back of my neck. I mean, Christ, how long is this neverending hallway.

“Don’t you ever just wanna come out with it and be done with the whole thing. Say anything and everything that’s on your mind?”

Misha stops dead in the hallway and looks at up me. “Every fucking day. You know that…”

We’re both darting our eyes to the left, gauging how much of our stopped conversation is garnering attention. From my assessment, it seems the attention never left us.

I find that I’m suddenly curious about the what-if of that scenario. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

A grin unlike anything I’ve seen all day grows on Misha’s face and he says, “I’d kiss you right back.”

“Huh. Good to know, I guess.” Leaning down towards him, I grin and say, “We’ve stopped this long we might as well give ’em something, right?” And then I throw my arm around his shoulders and keep walking.

I can feel his laughter under my arm and it’s weirdly strange to feel at ease. I’m not Jensen. And yet, here I am, trying to navigate his life and finding it’s way more complicated than I’d imagined and I feel sorry for the guy.

Up in the room, Misha is getting snacks together and I take the time to text Jensen, letting him know that, one, I’m sorry he gets the laser-like attention that he does, and two, Misha would love it if he just said ‘To fuck with it’ and kissed him in public.

His answer turns into cockles flirting via me. ‘Oh, I know he would ;). Tell him I’d be all over him in public if I could.’

“Who are you texting?” asks Misha.

“Uh, my wife.”

“Tell her I say ‘Hey’.”

“Done and done.” Or not.  Peeking around his frame, I see a plate set up on the table. “Ooh, what’d ya make me?!”

“Crackers and cheese.”

I jump up and make my way over, not wasting a second before it’s all getting shoved in my mouth. This turns out to be a bad idea when Misha tries his moves again.

Hands skirt around my stomach, and I almost choke on cracker crumbs. “M’oah, eh’ there.”

“Hey,” he says all sultry-like against the back of my neck and goddamnit I need to stop eating or I’m gonna block my windpipe.

I grab a bottle of water and try to wash down as much as I can before this goes further. Now I can talk without spewing crumbs. “We should probably get going, huh?”

Unabashed, he groans loudly and grips my hips. “What the hell!? You’ve been shuttin’ me down all fucking day. We’re normally all over each other here. You’re making me worry that something's wrong with us.”

Fuck. I must be doing a terrible job being Jensen. But it’s not like I’m gonna hop into bed with Misha Collins when I’m not the person he thinks I am, nor is he my boyfriend. I could offer up the truth, but who the hell would ever believe it?

Taking a deep breath, I turn around and grab his face and kiss him hard. “I know, I know. I’m in a mood and I’m sorry but I love you, I promise you that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Everything just feels off. Do you mind if we just, sort of, relax?”

His hands are gripping and playing with the hem of Jensen’s shirt that I’d put on before the Photo Op. The one that countless fans will have pictures of. It’s obvious he’s still worried, maybe even haunted by past fights they’ve had that have started with one or both of them growing distant, and I don’t know what else to say.

“Promise me that’s all it is,” he demands in a rough voice. There’s old pain buried in there and it kills me that I’m inadvertently dredging it up.

I kiss him, and this time, even though it goes against my better judgement, I use tongue. Kissing a man, _as a man_ , is different, but nothing short of exhilarating. The being taller bit is pretty awesome, too.  And then it occurs to me: Holy damn hell, I’m making out with Misha Collins. Throw me on the fire and call me done, 'cause my brain is maxed out on the shock of the day.

I’m quickly overrun with guilt and fangirl feelings of insanity.

I back away and regard him seriously and with the type of gaze I hold only for my boyfriend and say, “I promise. You know how important you are to me.”

“Don’t make me question it.”

I nod, feeling like shit. “C’mon, let’s go on a date!”

This, thankfully, brings a smile out of him. Since he’s happy, I ignore that he presses in close, discreetly (and yet not so discreetly) rubbing himself against me.

Damn, does that thing down there respond easy or what. Maybe this body is hard-wired to Misha like a friggin tuning fork.

I suppose now I’m no longer thinking that much about food. Unless you want to count Misha as something edible.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

At dinner, his thoughts stewing over the weight of his job and the effect he’s had on all these strangers, Jensen can’t seem to hold a steady conversation. He’s an actor, he should be better at pushing aside his own personal turmoil, but today, trapped in a body he’s not familiar with, it’s pretty damn hard.

“Excited for tomorrow?” Izzy asks as she’s bringing a forkful of pasta to her mouth.

Jensen grins without teeth and nods. “Yup. Cockles photo op, right?” Reaching back to his neck he rubs out the growing tension. He wonders how that will go… Damn, he misses Mish. This was supposed to be their weekend together, and he’s not even a part of it.

“You look really bummed, is everything okay? You’ve been so quiet!”

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he meets her eyes. “I miss my boyfriend,” he says honestly. He knows she can’t possibly see the truth behind his words, and if she could, it would no doubt give her some squeals over his and Misha’s relationship. He can only imagine how she’d react if she knew the whole truth.

“When was the last time you spoke to him anyway?”

Technically, he thinks, he spoke to Jodie’s boyfriend this morning, but since he’s discussing his own troubles, he says otherwise. “Last night.”

“Give him a call then! I don’t mind. I know you guys are crazy about each other. I mean c’mon you two had sex twice before work one morning—he must be going nuts without you.”

Jensen wants to laugh. Twice before work? _Niiiice_. “Um, but yeah, we are crazy about each other.” Seeing Mish in his mind, he wants to add that she doesn’t even know the half of it.

“Speaking of you guys, I can’t remember if you really gave me the whole story on how you got together?” Izzy rubs her mouth with the napkin and starts digging around her purse for lip-chap.

Jensen bites his bottom lip. He’s not normally given the opportunity to tell people about he and Mish. Should he now? How could he twist the story to make sense and still feel he can be himself.

She’s waiting patiently for him to go on, or for her friend to go on. This entire time he’s been this other person. It’s only now that he realizes he’s taken away from her con weekend with her friend. Making a promise to himself, he decides he’s gonna make sure they get to go to another one sometime soon. Though perhaps next time, a less intimate con experience.

“We, uh, met…in school…” Jensen lifts a single brow, trying to judge if he’s going in any kind of suitable direction.

“Oh yeah! I remember, you guys went to prom together right?”

Now he laughs. The image alone of he and Mish, arms around each other, Mish in some kind of prom dress blazes through his head like a jumbotron screen and he’s quickly dying of chuckles.

“Sorry, not that funny.” He attempts to breathe and pull himself together. “But yeah, yes, we, uh, went to pro" —a final giggle slips out— "prom together.” Christ, he can’t wait to tell Mish about this one.

“Anyway, it took a while to get where we are,” he continues seriously. “It was hard for a while. We started off kinda rocky. I freaked and dumped him the first go around. And, uh, yeah it was-it was ugly.”

Glancing across the table, her green eyes are one-hundred-percent on him, listening intently and it’s nice to unload anonymously this way.

“After that, it didn’t take long for me to realize I’d fucked up. Every time I saw him…it hurt. He was bitter, made me feel like shit about the whole thing as often as possible. And heck, I don’t blame the guy. I finally got my head on straight,” an absurd snort-laugh interrupts his speech but he motors on, “and, uh, decided to get him back. I was obvious and I was unrelenting, threw in some public shit for good measure. It took a while to get him to come around; he was gun-shy but I knew he wanted me, I knew he missed me. Even then, I think I knew he loved me.”

It’s at this point in his little drabble that Izzy’s eyes narrow. She says nothing, but he’s sure she’s feeling that something is off. Jensen can’t know what he said that altered the easy discourse, and he decides he doesn’t care.

What, like she’s going to spontaneously assume he’s not her friend? Who would ever jump to that impossible (and yet apparently not impossible) conclusion.

Suspiciously, a smile tugging the corner of her recently lipsticked mouth, she asks, “So what did you do to get him back in the end?”

Grinning, he answers. “I got drunk…and, luckily for me, he was already drunk. I showed up at his room one night and made one of those horribly embarrassing drunken I love you speeches.” Jensen laughs remembering, wishing he could’ve taped himself. They’d probably laugh about it now, or maybe the pain of it is still too familiar to be funny. “Anyway, we both caved that night. The next morning, sober and clear-headed, I promised I wasn’t going anywhere this time. Even if he didn’t believe it, he would eventually.”

Still watching him with a shrewd look, Izzy hums to herself. “Quite the story.” The hint of a broad smile is just on the edge of her features. Knowing he’s thrown something off, he tries to segue into something away from his personal life.

“So!” Jensen wracks his brain over the last day to try and remember if Izzy had mentioned a loved one. He’s coming up zilch, but certain that Jodie would’ve known. “What about you?” he says, hoping it’s just vague enough to lead.

“What about me?” she asks, nearly in a way that seems taunting. But there’s no way she can know.

“Ya know…the love life. Any updates I don’t know about?”

“Just what you already know.” Dammit, he thinks, she’s not giving me an inch! “Hey, hypothetical question for you, I know we’ve talked about weird stuff before, but do you legitimately believe in, you know, ghosts, and," she laughs, "supernatural stuff?”

Fuck. Why would she ask him this?

Nervously, playing with the napkin in his hand, he angles his head to meet her gaze at an angle, “I suppose.”

Smiling perceptively, she nods. “Me too.”

Back in their hotel room forty minutes later, finding he’s fallen into the routine of fan life and a less hectic schedule, he flops onto one of the beds and asks if she wants to watch TV before the thing tonight.

“Sure. And you don’t have to ask, I’ll play with your hair.” She chuckles.

Jensen has to wonder if this is normal. Do girls do this? Is this like the elusive pillow-fight scenario that most men imagine, except not as flagrantly typical? Surely, he’s got a mix of confusion and wonder slanting his plucked brows and twisting his mouth.

Something flashes in her eyes, like she’s hit the nail on the head of some unspoken conclusion. Throwing himself off the bed Jensen jumps up on hers and throws his head in her lap. “Sure, yeah! Love that hair playing. It’s my fav!” He exclaims in a fake blast of eager energy, hoping this ruse will last. My god, what does this girl even think is going on? Because clearly, she’s thinkin’ somethin’.

All these worries puddle into goo when she starts scratching his scalp because holy DAMN that feels good.

Nearly half asleep, Jensen is startled by Izzy’s sudden F-bomb and abrupt sitting up.

Blinking blearily, kind of wanting to just keep the hair playing thing going for a while longer, he glares at her, and she’s frowning down at her phone. “What?” he asks, somewhat grouchy.

“Those motherfuckers. I fucking swear—” She’s too enraged to complete her sentence, so Jensen slinks backwards to the edge of the bed, hoping he’s out of blast radius since clearly she’s damn pissed about something.

“What happened?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“The goddamn haters are talking shit, planning to say stuff again.”

“Say what?”

“Oh you know, ask inappropriate questions, make the actors uncomfortable, blame it all on other people. The Cockles tag is filled with idiots right now, I want to scream.”

On the one hand, he’s grateful he’s not the one that’s gonna have to answer the questions, and the other--Jodie is, and that could be very, very problematic. But questions are always screened, it should be fine.

“Questions are screened though, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah but tonight is just a regular event, it’s not a panel. The atmosphere is always a little more lax. I just worry… for the actors.” The last part is said curiously.

“It can’t be that bad.”

She scoffs and hands him her phone, the screen already loaded to a blue page with a scroll of posts. It’s not his first glimpse of Tumblr, but after five minutes of reading through, it’s definitely his longest foray into the world that he’d always tried to avoid. By ten minutes, he’s nearly as irate as Izzy. By twenty minutes, he’s fucking livid.

Ten minutes after that, Izzy is asking for her phone back. And fuck it, he’s got Jodie’s, he might as well keep on diving into that hole.

The anger boils in him, and it’s grown like a beast, unbridled and launched towards everything fan-related and all the fans inclusive. The entirety of his sudden hate has no boundaries and he remembers why he’d never wanted to look too closely before. He knew it would tarnish his view of the whole experience he’s had with his fans.

“Your face is red.” Izzy mentions offhand, texting someone on her phone.

“No fucking shit,” he snaps back. “What’s the goddamn hell is wrong with people?”

She shrugs, and oddly looks guilty and simultaneously offended. “It’s not everyone.”

It takes him a steadying breath or two to calm down. Jensen decides that although the con weekend is normally hectic for him as an actor, and he’s enjoyed being a fan for a day, he’s done. Their world is fucking mean. He’s sick of it. And more than anything, he misses Mish. They’ve lost a whole day.

And worse still… Misha is spending it with one of these fans. His few encounters with Jodie were fine, and he didn’t think she was a bad person at all, but after seeing the dark side of the fandom, he’s nervous about the person that’s wearing his skin and spending time with the man he loves.

Sure, waking up with a set of tits had been kinda wild and interesting, if not simultaneously panic-inducing. But now, with the novelty gone, he’s reached the limit.

Whatever spell caused this needs to end now.

/\/\/\

Whether or not Misha noticed, the date had felt very much like a first. I bumbled, I struggled to answer questions, I dodged topics of which I had no knowledge of whatsoever. I giggled at parts, because, damn, it’s still fucking Misha Collins, and though to him this is a date with his years-long lover, to me, it’s a unicorn of fan experiences never to occur again.

The way back, Misha categorically divulges his plans for later, beginning with a detailed description of where he plans to bite, lick, suck, and fuck. I stay quiet, grinning away and deciding that I need to get in touch with Jensen damn soon because I don’t think getting trapped in a hotel room with Misha for a night is a good plan. I mean, shit, it’s a tempting plan, but I’ve got my morals. Stupid morals.

In the lobby, we run into some of the other cast members; Jared, Rob, Richard, and Travis. Misha falls into chitchat with them easily, and it’s clear by most of their faces that they’re aware of the relationship between Misha and Jensen. I stay quiet, a bit starstruck still, and ultimately out of my depth.

Having somewhat slid into the temporary role as Misha’s boyfriend, and since I’ve never limited PDA in my own love life, I casually reach for his hand thinking for a brief moment that, hey, it’ll make the guy feel better about being sexually shunned all day.

It’s sly enough that no one of their group picks up on it but Misha rips his hand away as he throws me a sidelong look of both shock and something along the lines of _What the hell are you doing?!_ Oh right… we’re in public. Whoops.

Rob seems to catch the the disruption and his eyes find their way to me. I see laughter there and am a bit perturbed that he’s amused by the forced closeted relationship these two share. Unfortunately, he’s not the only that picks up on something. Travis, too, notices something’s up, and since he’s the one that’s spent the least amount of time with everybody, he goes all wide-eyed, and glances between me and Misha. No doubt, he saw that Jared and Jensen were close friends, but in playing Cole, he’d never had an episode with Cas, and, evidently, he never witnessed the behind-the-scenes interactions between Jensen and Misha. It’s hilarious how badly he wants to ask the question on the tip of his tongue, but he does well to hide it from the others.

It’s in that moment that a fan walks closely by, flanked by two of her comrades. My ears don’t fail me, and I catch the coughed and yet blatant single word she lets out. “ _Bottom.”_

Okay. Okay now. I am Jensen Ackles (if only temporarily) and therefore I am not permitted to smack a chick in the face. But I’m goddamn tempted. The bodyguard guy is hanging nearby, but he’d clearly missed it.

Misha, however, did not. “Ignore it,” he mutters just under his breath.

I try. I really do. Still, I’m flabbergasted by the audacity of the fan. Sure, I know they’re not all like that, I mean hell, some of them have become my best friends. But… _BUT_ , I would love to hit something right now. I’m filled with that irritable hatred, the kind where you have no idea what the fuck you would say but you know when you’re in the shower later, or laying in bed, the words will come storming into your subconscious like the most epic slamdown you’ve ever imagined. Sadly, it’s always after the fact and the glory of your spectacular, perfectly articulated speech will never see the light of day.

“Oo-ooh, shit!” Jared laughs, chortling at whatever’s on his phone.

“What’s so funny?” Richard asks. Misha and I both lean in to catch the drama.

“Gen says that twitter is all bent outta shape from a photo that got posted earlier.” His hazel eyes redirect pointedly towards Misha and myself.

Turning his phone around, everyone crowds around and some laugh immediately, clearly used to this kinda shit.

It’s from before, when I’d been trying to make Misha feel better. The camera is zoomed in close down the hallway, and there we are, my arm slung over his shoulders, his around my lower back. It has a nuzzly sort of quality and I curse myself for adding fuel to the fire. I can just barely make out some of the comments to the persons tweet.

Misha smirks. “They love the cockles.”

“Not according to that third tweet there.”

“Oh come on,” Jared starts, tiredly, like this is a conversation they’ve had before. “That’s nowhere near the worst you’ve seen.”

I snort.

“Seriously, yeah, I get it’s annoying as shit, and I know you get worried over it but--

I hold up my hand. By now I’m aware of surrounding fans trying to discreetly get pics of the group of them. The event for the night is starting in fifteen minutes, the karaoke thing or whatever. The crawling ants feeling on the back of my neck from earlier is persistent and I’m tempted to do an about-face and scream at them all to go to their fucking rooms. Granted, I’ve always been a bit of an introvert and this level of attention and general lack of privacy is making me bonkers. Because even among a crowd of strangers, there’s a certain aspect of privacy inherent in being anonymous. Slap a famous face on yourself and that feeling is lost, and you realize just how great it had been.

Evidently this isn’t the first time they’ve witnessed “Jensen” get aggravated and they all turn towards each other and carry on another conversation while “he” is left to stand and brood.

“Man I hope you’re back to normal after this weekend,” Mish says in a flat voice.

“Makes two of us,” I reply full-heartedly, the new depth of my voice carrying an air of desperation to it.

The night's event is long, dragging on and on. They try to get me to sing, as I normally would, but just because I have the good voice, doesn’t mean I know how to use it properly. I dance, trying to imitate the ridiculous moves I’ve seen Jensen too.

Rocking my hips as Richard belts out something awful, I catch my brown eyes in the crowd, which are nearly invisible because he’s scrunched them near closed with his damn unicorn laugh.  I imagine I’m the object of this hilarity.

My personality ensures that I’m instantly self conscious. Truth is, I’m not cut out for this continuous bombardment of acting a certain way, and garnering an uninterrupted hawk-like attention.

I’m tired. I’m annoyed. And the group I consider myself a part of--the fans--have irritated me to no end.

All at once, regardless of the strange and slightly wicked circumstance of being Jensen, complete with dangly parts, I’m more than ready to retreat back to my anonymous little life.

Glancing across the rows of faces, some in hysterics, others animated, and a few singing along as zealously as Richard himself, I once again find the face I surprisingly miss seeing in reflections.

He nods once, his expression hardening into purpose.

/\/\/\

Jensen knows she’s reached her limit. As funny as it had been to see his bowed legs and familiar frame twist and move with only secondhand embarrassment, the shared feeling of irritation is acknowledged between them.

When the event wears down, and people slink off to their rooms or continued nighttime activities of boozing and whatever the fuck else, he whips her phone out and texts his.

“We need to figure out how to fix this.”

She’s off to the side with some of the others, notably not talking. The hardest part is seeing Mish there. At first glance, most would say he’s having a good time. But Jensen knows better. The guy’s upset, and it’s no wonder. They’re normally all over each other in Rome. It’s actually hard to believe that they’ve never been caught the many times they’d ducked out into empty rooms at past cons to suck the other off quick and needily. There’s nothing like avoiding a destiel question when he could still taste Mish’ come in his mouth.

His gut sinks when he realizes tomorrow is their panel, and their photo op, and he usually loves it. The fans enjoy them and they enjoy each other--what could be better. It’s few and far between that he feels free with Misha in public.

The degree to which he misses and craves Misha is growing into an acute pain in his chest.

Having been sidetracked by his own thoughts, he realizes Jodie has texted him back.

“Meet me in the lobby and I guess we’ll start asking around.”

From where he sits, taking in the loud conversation around him, he meets her focus and stands.

“Where are you going?” Izzy asks, catching his arm. There’s still a strange energy in the way she interacts with him, everything having changed since dinner. Maybe even a bit before.

“Just using the bathroom, be back soon.” Unlikely, he thinks to himself. He’s not sure about Jodie’s plans, but he’s already decided they should ask every damn person they find. The tricky part is trying to figure out what to ask in the first place. ‘ _So any chance you’ve run into a magical thing or person that bodyswaps people, lately? No, well alright then, we won’t take anymore of your time,’_ seems like the wrong way to go.

The way he normally is with women, and those he’s friends with, has him reaching out to ruffle Izzy’s hair. At the last second, he realizes this is not at all something women do to each other and yanks his hand back.

“Uh, so, be right back.” Without waiting for a reply, he dodges through the chairs and tables and heads out into the hallway.

Veering right, he jogs to make it to the lobby faster. Normally he’d walk but with legs about half their normal length, he finds it would take too long.

Earlier, before they’d left the room, when he’d been still stewing in angry juices, Izzy had had to nearly force him to get ready to come down. And apparently it would have been ridiculous to wear the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn throughout the day. “You have to dress up!” she encouraged, moving quickly to rummage Jodie’s suitcase, extracting from it a fucking dress.

_-EARLIER THAT EVENING-_

“No way in hell,” he blurts.

“This is the one you wanted to wear, remember?” Is it just him, or is there a friggin’ twisted delight in those green eyes?

Grumbling as he walks through the clothes they’ve got scattered on the floor, he clutches it from her hands and stomps towards the washroom to change.

How the fuck do you put on a dress? Step into it? Throw it over your head? God, why can’t he remember what Danneel does. Probably because he only pays attention when she’s getting undressed. The hot image of his naked wife parading around uncensored in his mind leads to interesting developments. A startling tingle down below that quickly makes him want to rub his thighs together. And then it hits him that he’s such a creeper. Fuck, better get the damn dress on before things get any worse.

Attempt number one ends with the thing stuck at his female hips and not inching up no matter how much he jumps and growls angrily at the garment.

Going over the head works well enough, but then he has to zip up the side. Not exercising necessary caution he managed to zip into the sensitive skin known as sideboob--or so Danneel has called it in the past.

“Fuuuccck! Ow!” He yelps, and then slowly attempts a second go of it.

Standing in the mirror, he tries to visualize Jodie looking at herself. The dark brown eyes, the hair similarly coloured to his own, except with blonde ombre in there--which he only knows because Danneel had jumped that fashion bandwagon also.  Currently, the hair is a half-curly, half-frizzy disaster, made worse from Izzy’s hands.

Jensen is scowling at the image. This poor girl, he’s taken a put-together woman and now, looking at this new version of himself, he feels a bit guilty. Maybe he can get Izzy to do the hair and the makeup thing. Not that he wants to go all out or anything, but shit, he’s already in a damn dress. Noting the deep blue colour and the low neckline, he realizes it’s a perfect dress for her. Huh. What do ya know, dressing up kinda did make him feel a bit better.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

_-PRESENT-_

Rounding the corner towards the lobby, Jensen’s small shoes sliding on the tiles, he catches the corner of the wall to halt his near slip’n’side towards embarrassment.

If the wall hadn’t stopped him, the sight greeting his eyes sure would’ve.

Standing near the cafe, off to the side from the front doors, is Jodie, and beside her? Misha. She looks aggravated and he gathers she wasn’t able to ditch the guy.

There’s hotel security nearby and the closer he gets to Jodie, the greater scrutiny they give him.

She waves them off, and smiles without teeth, her eyes apologetic that Mish is still there.

“Hello,” she says cordially.

“Hi,” he says. She formally shakes his hand--and wow--that feels weird when you're the small-handed one. Always friendly, Misha says hi and shakes his hand too, asking his name.

The ache in his heart spikes and he wants so bad to hold on longer, but Misha’s soft, warm skin is already slipping out of his grasp.

When he looks back at Jodie, he’s angry all over again. It’s not fucking fair.

“Um, this fan and I met earlier actually and we realized we’re…”

“--related,” I answer for her.

“Yes!” She agrees with enthusiasm. “Cousins. Second cousins.”

From the corner of his eye, he watches Mish’s BS meter skyrocket. And on the heels of that? Anger. He wonders if Misha actually thinks he’d have sex with a fan.

“We were gonna have a chat about Aunt Shirley?” says Jensen.

“Right. Uh,” she turns to Mish. “Family stuff. Boring. Head back upstairs I’ll be there in a bit.”

The blue eyes darken considerably, “Actually. I think I’ll hang around with you guys if you don’t mind.”

Jensen tries to smile like he’s pleased with this new development, when really he’s frustrated that they aren’t able to look into their little problem, and simmering below that is the outrage that Misha would ever even entertain the possibility that he might sleep with a fan. Sure, yeah, his and Jodie’s interactions are weird, but c’mon Mish.

Jodie’s about to say something--what, he doesn’t know since neither of them know who the fuck they’re supposed to be talking about--when her gaze zeroes in on something behind him. Twisting back, his flats sliding on the tile again, he sees Izzy grinning and heading towards them.

Exhaling hard, Jensen doesn’t even try to hide his reactions anymore. It’s all absurd. It’s beyond comprehendible that this even happened in the first place.

Reaching the end of the proverbial rope, Jensen huffs and looks hard at Jodie, just as Izzy is walking into earshot.

“That’s it. I’m done. We gotta tell ’em.”

“Fucking shut the hell up,” she whispers harshly. _Pfft_. Like that’s gonna do any good.

“Tell me what?” Misha snaps, his demeanour flipping towards that stomach-tightening powerful Cas mode, all of which is unleashed on Jodie.

“Mish, _soooo_ not what you think.” It’s him that speaks up, and both the tone and the use of his abbreviated name cause Misha to step back and regard him with equal curiosity and distrust.

“ _I_ can hazard a guess.” Izzy chimes in and Jensen instantly reaches over to cover her mouth. If this show and tell is happening, it sure as hell isn’t going down in the damn lobby.

And how the hell does she even know? What _does_ she even know?

Intently staring up into his former green eyes, he conveys in a single look that this needs to happen.

Jodie eventually nods. When she brushes past him, she leans down and whispers, “If we end up in a fucking psychward I’m gonna kill you.” He wishes he could tell her that it won’t happen, but that guarantee simply isn’t up for grabs with this whacko story.

Izzy follows without question but Misha is still stuck on the spot. The tightness in his expression means that anger is winning out over curiosity, and it hurts to know that Misha’s trust of him has been shaken.

Jensen wants to reach up and touch the face he knows better than his own and say that it’s okay, but it’s altogether a bad idea. “Please, come with us. It’ll make sense soon.” But will it? _Nah_. It’ll sound as absurd as he knows it is.

“Who are you?” Misha demands, the inside of his lip having already been tugged into his mouth by his teeth—it's what he does when he’s annoyed or pissed.

There’s no way to answer that. Instead, Jensen licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “Please just come.”

An elevator ride later, they are on the fourth floor, filing into his and Izzy’s room. The clothes are still flung about like an eccentric designer carpet. Knowing that Misha will soon be told that he’s not him, and that this body is where he currently resides, makes him queasy.

“You should probably sit.” Jodie suggests the moment the door is shut. Jensen drags the two chairs to face the bed.

Entirely carefree, Izzy hops up onto the bed and adjusts herself against the headboard; she looks wholly amused.

He can’t help it. “You know, don’t you?”

Jodie does a double take between them, perplexed. Izzy shoots him a lopsided grin. “I have to say I thought I was crazy for a while today. It took me a bit longer to figure out who you were.”

Jensen sighs. A few things start to piece together. "Let me guess you don't have a brother, do you?" he asks Jodie.

Wholly confused, her eyes— _his eyes_ —narrow. "No."

Meanwhile, Izzy is smirking with pride. He's gotta hand it to her, she managed to figure all this out on her own and not freak out. If he'd suspected his friend of being body-snatched, he would've gone ape-shit.

"I was pretty sly, wasn—"

“— _Someone_ better tell me what the FUCK is going on?!” Misha shouts, standing straight, his body towering over everyone. He turns to who is supposed to be Jensen with an accusatory finger, “I _know_ you have a brother, so that makes no fucking sense. And everyone else here seems to know what’s happening except me!”

The room falls silent and Jodie shrinks back. No doubt to Mish it validates his suspicious distrust. But Jensen knows she’s only trying to give him the spotlight.

“You won’t believe it,” he says honestly.  The sound of his voice is soft, and undeniably feminine, but he prays that Mish will see through it all.

“Believe what!?” Misha takes a step towards Jodie, planted in the chair near the wall. To Jensen's annoyance, Mish continues to ignore him entirely.

Please look at me, he thinks.

“Okay,” Jodie begins. “You’re a crazy man. Keep an open mind, alright?” Misha grinds his back teeth, causing the muscles in his jaw to flex, and if Jensen weren’t so worried he might be aroused. “Have you ever seen the movie Freaky Friday?” asks Jodie.

This seems to throw Mish off. The question being so far from what the guy was probably expecting. Izzy snorts and chuckles to herself, shaking her head.

“Yes,” answers Mish grudgingly. “What the hell does that have to do with anything? Jensen, I don’t know what the hell this is, or what’s going on. I’m half hoping it’s a prank, and if it is, it’s a shitty one.”

“It’s not a prank,” they say together. Even so, Misha doesn’t relent with the harsh line of his mouth.

Jodie takes a deep breath and turns her head to give Jensen an impatient glare. The very clear: 'He’s _your_ boyfriend,' is duly noted.

Okay. Here goes nothin'.

“Can you just sit for a minute, Mish?” Jensen asks, his tone exasperated.

Reaching up to scratch his cheek and rub over his mouth, Misha simply shakes his head and lowers his butt to the mattress, and then stares. First at Jodie, or who he believes to be Jensen, and then ultimately at him…

“Who the hell are you?”

They’re all silent for a beat, until finally Jensen gathers the courage to say it. “I’m… _me_ , I'm… Jensen.” And yeah, it sounds as insane as he’d imagined.

“And I’m Jodie—Nice to meet you. _Officially_.” Jodie attempts a smile, but they’re both at a loss seeing Misha sit there with a dumb look on his face, like he can’t figure out how to form words.

Jensen decides to plough through the whole thing. “Okay, so it sounds insane. Hear me out, alright? I went to bed with you last night, and this morning I woke up as her—” he says pointing to Jodie. “We don’t know why, and I know you probably think we’re nuts and don’t believe a damn word, but Mish, it’s me, c’mon. You gotta see it.”

Misha’s gone stiller than the dead; no confused slope of his eyebrows, no scrunching of his nose— _Nothing_.

“Uh, Mish?”

The name seems to bring life back to the guy and his eyes rapidly shift between them. Finally, his narrowed eyes settle on Jodie. “I don’t get it. What the hell are you trying to do? This is a joke, right? You can’t seriously expect me to believe this. I know you and Jared like to tease me because I’m gullible, but fuck Jensen, knock it off.”

“I’m sorry to butt in here, but please stop talking to her. I haven’t been with you all friggin’ day, and whether you believe it or not I’m gettin’ real sick of you staring at her instead of me,” Jensen blurts, getting the pent-up irritation out of him in one swift go.

Jodie smiles empathetically. “I’m not him, Misha. Really. I swear. First of all, I’m Canadian. And I mean c’mon, don’t you remember this morning? You _saw_ me freak the hell out!”

The wheels seem to begin revolutions in Misha’s head. “There’s no possible way I’d ever believe this.”

Jensen’s throat starts to thicken with a strange fear. What if Misha _never_ believes it? What if they _never_ change?

“Ask me anything!” demands Jensen, eagerly leaning forward. “C’mon, anything and everything.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Jodie shift away in her seat, away from the conversation to give them the illusion of privacy and he appreciates it. Up towards the pillows, he catches Izzy staring at the back of Misha’s head, nearly on the edge of her seat, waiting to see if he’ll finally get it.

“Fine.” Misha sits up straighter. This is the only sure-fire way to get Misha to believe him and yet, he’s sure he’s not gonna like where this is going.

“Shoot.”

“If you really, truly expect me to believe this cockamamie story, then tell me _Jensen_ , what is the worst thing you’ve ever said to me?”

It’s quick, but he notices his boyfriend take a glimpse at Jodie. Instantly, Misha's thrown off by the lack of regret that should be there if, in fact, she were him. Jensen, on the other hand, can feel the guilt rising up to strangle him. It’s been a long time since they’ve even talked about that night.

“Mish—” he pleads. Ripping open old wounds is not how this should go.

“No. This is what I need. Because no matter what prep you would’ve put into some overdramatized prank, and any number of things you may have told someone to make it work—this is not something you would’ve said. If you’re really Jensen, say it.”

“Don’t go there.” God, can’t Misha hear the pain and regret in his voice? Why does he have to say it?

“Say it.”

“I was drunk.” Which is the worst goddamn excuse ever and they both know it, but maybe saying that alone will be enough.

There’s a crack in the stiff line of Misha’s features, a softening and fair amount of growing panic that the story their all spinning might possibly be true.

“C’mon you know it's me, I can see it. You know. Just believe me.”

“Say it,” Misha repeats himself. A little less forcefully now, a little more bracing.

Jensen wants to bury his face in his hands to get the words out but he needs Misha to see his regret, that still, after all this time, he’ll never forgive himself. And not just for what he said, but how he acted altogether.

Hoping that Misha can see him through the face he’s wearing, he looks him right in the eye and repeats the words he’d said that one horrific night. “Don’t fucking touch me, you fucking freak…”

There's a small gasp, and a faint curse from their audience. Followed by dead silence. Jensen holds Misha's stare, enduring the open pain between them. After several minutes, Misha's rough voice breaks the silence. In the lowest whisper, he adds, "All of it."

“Goddammit Mish! It’s fucking me and you know it,” Jensen raises his voice and stands. “I’m not going there. I was an asshole that night. I freaked out about how I felt and I took it out on you and we’re over that shit. So, please, just fucking believe me already. I love you…”

Misha’s struck silent, staring up at the short woman with the unruly hair.

Hoping that he won’t get smacked away, Jensen reaches out and touches his boyfriend's face. “I know it's fucked up. I wouldn’t believe it either, but I swear on JJ’s life it's the truth. Ask me anything else—Ask me good things! Please!”

“Where did the night of five times happen?”

Jensen has to laugh at the trick question. “Screw you, it was seven, and it was at our apartment.”

Its then that Misha really, _truly_ looks at him. “I—I believe you. I think. But I—This is crazy.”

“I know exactly what you mean!” Jensen sighs, overcome with relief. Quickly, he leans left towards Jodie. “Umm…” The awkward request is hard to put into words.

Jodie rolls her eyes. “Yes you may use my mouth to kiss him, go ahead! Maybe you can diffuse some of his horniness a little.”

With a dull smack, Misha face-palms. “Oh my God! If this is all true, then I— _Oh My God!”_ His shame-filled blue eyes shoot over to Jodie apologetically. “I am so incredibly sorry.”

“No worries, I fended you off.”

Izzy scoots closer to the edge of the bed beside Mish and looks over at Jensen. “By the way, would’ve been nice of you to let me know about the switcheroo before I traipsed around the room half-naked this morning.”

Jensen throws his palms up in mock surrender. “I swear I didn’t look! I promise!”

She laughs, Jodie laughs too and comments on how the dress looks good on him. The moment is liberating until he finds himself searching out Misha again. The missed day seems to grow into a presence with a surge and Jensen doesn’t stop himself from throwing his temporarily smaller frame into Misha’s lap and kissing him hard.

The room falls silent, with the exception of his sloppy attack. Misha seems afraid to respond. The once familiar touch feels different but somehow the same. The soft feel of Misha’s mouth seems plusher and bigger against these lips, his hands feel huge covering half Jensen’s back, and he’s dimly aware of his short dress shifting higher and higher up his thigh as he moves.

Someone clears their throat. Misha gently pushes him off with a weird, twisted smile. “It’s no doubt you in there, that’s for sure.”

A flush creeps up his cheeks and he’s profoundly aware of having damp underwear. Nervously, Jensen swipes the hair away from his face, though it falls right back anyway. “Umm, so before, we were, uh, going to try and figure out how to fix this…”

“It happened sometime last night though?” asks Mish.

“Yeah,” he and Jodie say together. “But we don’t know how or by who.”

“Maybe that doesn’t matter,” Izzy points out. “If it’s anything like the movie, then you both need to see the other side, you need to walk in the other person's shoes and it’ll fix itself.”

“Yeah but we’ve been doing that all day. And trust me, I get it—there’s a lot going on we don’t know about.” Jensen raises his eyebrows to Mish and shakes his head.

“He’s right; we’ve definitely seen the other side.”

“Apparently not enough,” she answers simply.

“Look guys, it’s late and I’m fucking tired. We’ll try again tomorrow I guess. C’mon Izzy, let’s leave these guys alone.”

Jensen squints up at her as she jumps up from her chair. “You’re leaving us…alone?” There is no way she doesn’t realize this is a terribly bad idea.

With a teasing smile, Jodie bends down to his ear. “About our deal? You’re gettin’ a free pass tonight. Use it wisely. And good god, don’t forget to take my pill tonight, I’m not gettin’ knocked up, eh?” Jodie squints before focusing on Misha, “You clean?”

Both of them nod in a daze. They’re left staring wide-eyed at the permission they’ve just been given. Jensen is still trying to figure out how he feels about it when he’s suddenly crushed by Izzy squeezing a hug around him. “You owe me a photo op, buddy,” she says.

As they skirt past him and Misha, the girls throw their arms around each other, remarking how they’ve missed hanging out. On the way out, Jensen hears Jodie ask her friend, “Want to hop on my back and race around the halls?”

“Hell yes I do!” Izzy grins and bounces her way out the door. It clicks shut, closing he and Mish in the girls’ room.

Misha’s got a nervous brow sweat going on and Jensen finds it hilarious. “What's the matter? You’ve never had your boyfriend spontaneously turn into a woman before? Geez Mish.”

It gets the desired reaction of a rickety laugh out of the man. “I feel like I’m about to cheat on you.”

“Ask me some dirty questions then… that’ll help.” Jensen winks and climbs back into Misha’s lap, kind of loving that he can package himself into the larger frame so easily.

Misha meets his eyes and seems to search for something. “It’s really you.” It’s no longer a question, but a statement of awe.

“It’s really me.”

“Then tell me what you want tonight.” Misha grips Jensen’s smaller waist and adjusts him so he’s straddling Misha’s crotch, legs wrapped around behind his back, short dress now up high enough to show the thong he’s wearing.

For one, Jensen thinks, I want these damp underwear gone. “Can I be a total girl and say make love to me?” He’s smiling wide as he says it.

Misha palms the back of his head, fingers sinking into the nest of curly knots back there, and brings him in for a kiss. “Yes, you can definitely say that. And I hate to remind you, but you often say that when you drink Jack.”

“I do not!” Jensen barks back, shifting to look Mish in the eye.

“Oh yes you do. I don’t know what it is but every time you get drunk off Jack and Coke you become a clingy, lovey-dovey, sappy drunk, but I love it.”

There might be some truth to that, but he won’t admit to it.

“Kiss me again,” demands Jensen, grinding his borrowed girl parts onto the very hard bulge in Misha’s pants.

Misha dives in, and it’s exactly what he wanted. Mish dominates the kiss, holding Jensen’s face both to caress and to brace and it’s the strangest sensation to not have an erection but instead this desperate need to rub himself against anything.

The meeting of tongue and lips is no less than a frenzy soon enough and Jensen hasn’t even tried to hide his outright gyrating moves in Misha’s lap. It’s a familiar pressure, but still wholly different in a way he can’t explain. Moaning into the kiss, Jensen shoves Misha down onto the bed and lays out over him.

_Yes_ —That’s exactly what he needed. The new position aligns the area where he feels the most pressure with the hardest line of Misha’s dick and he’s never had shame before with the guy and isn’t about to start now.

Misha has to arch forward to reach for a kiss, being so much taller now, and Jensen barely registers the tongue in his mouth but instead ruts his damp underwear all over Misha’s trapped erection.

The wave of sensation that had been building up hits him hard. Very nearly biting Misha’s lip, he shouts between them as a pulse beats in his clit which seems to radiate everywhere. And fuck, it just keeps going. Jensen continues to dry-hump Misha as hard as he can to elongate the weird achy-throb that feels pointedly different than ejaculating.

Resting his head over Misha’s quickly beating heart, he sighs. “Wow.”

“Better as a woman?” Misha wonders.

“ _Hmph_ , different. Good different. I'm so fucking wet down there, you don't even know,” he remarks offhand.

“Let’s see how this multiple orgasms thing works, huh?” Without pause, Misha throws him onto his back and pushes his dress up. “One day, I’ve got to get _you_ -you in a thong and a dress.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Jensen grins, knowing he’ll cave one day anyway.

/\/\/\

I’m out of breath and my knee hurts but we’re both having so much fun it’s worth it. Thank god there aren’t that many people left awake at this hour.

“Faster!” Izzy screams in my ear, her voice hitchy with laughter. We’re both laughing so hard that tears have escaped our eyes and our stomachs are cramping.

I’m racing down the halls with her on my back and I feel like a giant and it’s just too damn funny.

When the hilarity wears down and I let her slide off, we both slide down the wall to park our butts on the floor.

“I’m gonna miss some aspects of being a guy.”

“Yeah? So… I have to ask. You _know_ I have to ask.”

“Ask what. Out with it.”

“Did you touch it?”

I laugh and scratch my head nervously. “No! Only when I peed. I swear.”

“That must have been hard.”

As we both have gutterminds, we erupt into giddy chuckles like the immature adults that we are. “Oh, it was hard!”

This instantly transforms into a rundown of lines from the outtakes. “I mean I can’t really see it, but I know it’s hard.” Izzy doubles over with an arm across her stomach.

“Say more!” She demands, her face red.

We quickly lose ourselves into fits of more laughter as I say Dean-like things over and over again or things Dean has never said on the show, or just random funny shit we find on Tumblr. “ _No homo Cas I swear, now get naked and into my bed. For science.”_ … “ _I need you Cas, you’re my baby daddy_.”

The night wears on and we both tire but I forgot my keycard and we have nowhere to go.

“I can’t believe you’re letting Jensen do Misha in your body,” she comments sometime near four a.m.

“Just doing my part to help Cockles along.” I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Is it weird if Jensen Ackles passes out in the hallway with a fan?”

“Probably,” I say, “But who the fuck cares. The fans are crazy anyway.” I haven’t realized my tone and what I’ve said until I notice Izzy regarding me with her head comically tilted a la Cas.

“What?”

“ _You_ are a fan.” Oh, right.

“Yeah, I am. But walking around today… it's worse than you think, dude. They’re all staring, gawking, watching your every move. I can’t do anything without sniggering following it. Makes me wanna rip my hair out. Like c’mon people, calm’r down.”

“That’s the way it is.”

“It’s annoying.” Saying this, I lift my hands—err, Jensen’s hands—-and turn them around. I wonder what’ll need to happen before I’m looking back at my own.

Izzy falls asleep on my shoulder in a dead-end part of the hallway with only one door to the exit staircase. I set an alarm to go off in a couple hours so we have time to get ready, and maybe do some research in the morning.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

It’s one thing to feel touch and sensation through a body that isn’t yours, but its a vastly different to feel eyes on skin that isn’t yours. The two of them have unzipped the dress Jensen had been wearing and its being tugged over his head, but at the last second he curls into himself and grabs Misha’s attention.

“I know you will, but I feel like I have to say, ya know, this body isn’t mine, so just, ya know…”

Misha kisses him. “I know.” The hand that warms his cheek slides down his neck, over his shoulder and gently brushes the back of his hand down over the swell of his breasts. The thin, unlined bra does next to nothing to dampen the tingle he feels when one knuckle grazes over his hardened nipple.

“Mmm… wanna feel your skin.” Jensen yanks Misha’s t-shirt over his head, and tries to start undoing the pants.

The hotel air feels chilly against his skin, and the second Misha’s reduced to boxers, he burrows himself into the heated skin of Misha’s chest. The overwhelming safety that he feels with Misha’s long arms wrapped around him is a wake-up call. He never imagined that being smaller would leave him feeling more vulnerable, but he does. Not knowing how it’s all gonna feel, his heart rate spikes and he distracts himself by sucking kisses against Misha’s throat.

The world tilts as Mish arranges them, Jensen laid out on the bed, hating that he’s a little cold and can’t fully relax because of it.

“Chilly?”

“Yeah. Women are definitely colder. And it's almost all the time too! The panel room is freezing by the way!”

Chuckling, Misha pulls the comforter over them and jostles the bed as he pulls off his boxers.

“I feel like a virgin.” It’s dumb, but here he is, newly female about to have sex and he’s just over five feet tall and can’t weigh more than a buck fifteen. Misha, on the other hand, is six feet of lean, hard muscle. It’s hot as hell, no doubt. But he can’t help the feeling of knowing that Misha overpowers him.

“I suppose you kind of are. Remember the first time you let me top?”

Jensen blushes. If possible, his core gets even wetter and it becomes hard to concentrate. “Yes,” he rasps out.

“I was careful with you,” Misha’s voice is sultry and teasing. It’s exactly what he needs.

“Hm, yeah, you were incredible. I think I passed ou—” The word dies on his lips as a moan drags out from the feel of Misha fingering alongside the seam of his underwear. He wants to scream at Misha to rip them off but he knows better than to tell Mish what to do. It just so happens that Misha always knows _exactly_ what to do, and Jensen trusts him in bed fully and completely, even under the rare circumstance of his being a woman--

There’s a thought he’d never imagined would cross his brain.

The first brush of Misha’s finger under the tight, damp thong and he writhes for more. “Take them off.”

“Not yet.”

The finger disappears and before he can protest, Misha switches to the other side and does the same tease. A circuit starts, from left to right, and up and down, the subtle drag of barely an inch of finger just inside the edge of his damn black thong with fucking flowers on it.

There’s wet...and then there’s the state of Jensen as a woman, which is absolutely drenched, and he’d be almost embarrassed if it weren’t Misha doing the touching.

Jensen stares up in sheer awe at the control Misha has, watching those blue eyes stare right back at him. The tease stops only to switch to something worse. Misha grazes him over the thin fabric of the thong in featherlight passes from clit to where the line of the thong disappears between his asscheeks.

The pressure increases and increases, the up and down motion changing to a single thumb circling near the top, and a finger lower to press into him, but getting nowhere with the barrier of the underwear.

“Fucking hell!” he cries out. Misha takes the opportunity of an open mouth and licks between his lips, up towards the roof of his mouth and winds a circle around his tongue. The thumb rubbing him hard moves a fraction lower and he’s coming. The same endless feeling of pulsations that shudder through him leave him strapped for oxygen. Bucking against Misha’s heavy palm, he sucks the air from Misha’s mouth and loses himself to the aftershocks.

“That was two.” Misha smiles.

“You’re gonna kill me!” Jensen pants, kicking the blanket off now that he’s sufficiently hot and bothered.

“Let’s go for three.” Misha shifts up between his legs and grabs the base of his cock and in a rapid-fire motion bounces his erection against Jensen’s clit. A tempestuous need courses through him, and in less than a minute he comes again.

“Fuck Mish, that was…fucking… _hot_ ,” he pants, hardly able to catch a breath now.

Misha’s hair is a wild mess, and his face is a deep flushed red, his eyes dilated as he hovers over Jensen with trembling muscles. Holding Jensen with a single look, Misha starts to pull the thong down his thighs. It’s exciting and terrifying altogether.

Jensen struggles with the bra but eventually manages to get the thing off. And now he’s naked and profoundly nervous.

“You okay?” Mish asks, kissing the side of his mouth and trailing a gentle palm up the outside of his leg.

“Yeah, I’m good, it’s just... This is impossible, right? And yet it’s happening, and it’s a kinda hard to wrap my head around it that’s all.”

Sliding a bit lower, Misha settles onto him in a comfortable way and brushes the uncooperative curls from his face. “We’ll get you back, ya know? If you don’t want to do this, it’s not a problem. I can wait.”

“No. No, I want you. I do. To feel you like this, all bigger and taking charge and me here kind of… well, ya know… it’s exciting. But, well fuck, Mish, I’m nervous, okay? Let’s not make a big deal of it.”

Misha smiles warmly and presses a kiss to his cheek. “That’s understandable. Next time you end up a woman, it’ll go much smoother,” Misha teases.

Jensen twists his man’s nipple between his manicured fingers; short nails with dark red nail polish. He’ll never tell a soul that he likes it.

Capturing Misha’s face between those same hands, he drags the guy up as best he can and Misha slides up between his legs, their bodies lining up and the deluge of prickling excitement makes his muscles twitch.

Slow, teasing kisses start things off. It’s exactly the way Jensen normally likes it when they’re going for a more passionate, dare he say, love-making session. As opposed to the ‘we-have-thirty-minutes-lets-fuck-each other-senseless' that they often get away with at work.

As Misha’s tongue is making rounds in his mouth and trailing across his lips in a dirty kiss with heavy eye contact, Jensen suddenly feels the warm brush of Misha’s cock against his slickened skin. Whether it's the feeling itself or the impending action that electrifies him from head to toe, he’s not sure, but doesn’t much care at this point.

More than ready, it’s easy for Misha to slide into him nice and slow. Jensen loses his breath for a moment, going still to feel the nuances of something so different. It’s fucking slippery for one, but it’s a sensation of fullness that he’s not all that unfamiliar with.

“Still good?” Mish wonders, a hand covering the expanse of his belly, from ribs to pelvis. That is one big hand.

“Hmm, yeah. Give it to me,” he says with a wide grin, relaxing from the sight of the familiar face above him.

The laugh he receives is one of the crinkly, dopey ones that makes his heart melt. “Wrap your legs around me,” Misha tells him.

“Well, I’ll try, but they’re a lot shorter than mine.” Somehow, he manages, hooking his ankles just over the top of Misha’s ass.

Bringing their foreheads together, Misha thrusts experimentally a few times to see what he likes. The long, dragging motions make him tense up; the fast, shallow ones have him clawing at Misha for more. Surprisingly, or not so considering his normal proclivities, he enjoys it a bit hard. And he finds that, as a woman, getting pounded holds a plethora of sensations above and beyond getting drilled in the ass. It’s not that it’s necessarily better, there’s copious joy in both, but… hot damn.

The hotel bed is clamouring against the wall, and Misha is towering over him, sweat beading along his hairline. Jensen is under him, legs barely able to hold on as the cock he’s intimately acquainted with plunges into his slick walls. The position is well chosen, as each jarring collision of their hips manages to assault every nerve-ending that could possibly exist down there, and it leaves him helplessly gaping and panting, having succumbed to the unparalleled sensations.

The damp curls around his head are knotting and pulling as he’s repeatedly rocked on the mattress.

“Fuck, Jen, you’re a hot mess right now and I fucking love it,” growls Mish against his mouth, somehow managing to push deeper, crushing them together.

Jensen rubs his face in vain attempts to get the hair off. “Oh my—” The expletive is cut-off in favour of desperately needed air. “Oh my—” _Fuuuck_. A growing feverish heat blankets over his skin, and he starts to sweat, moaning sounds that sound like mangled swear words. He can feel the hardness of his nipples in the chilled air, even though he’s nearly on fire, and the irritating pressure in his core that’s become this tangible sort of ache.

“Gimme your legs,” Mish demands breathlessly, beads of sweat now trickling down from his hairline to his temple. Jensen complies, though he’s shaky and they both laugh seeing his legs all wobbly.

In the exact position he’s taken under Misha before, legs bent back to his ears, he wonders for a moment what the hell Misha’s planning. “We are definitely not doing that, so don’t get any ideas.”

Misha’s hearty laugh comes with a slap to his ass. “Trust me?” asks Mish carefully, meeting his eyes in the dark.

Jensen raises a brow and wiggles his toes up near his head. “Oh, I trust you. I also know you’re crazy and therefore I’m nervous about that plotting look in your eye.”

Misha doesn’t even try to argue and instead starts to fuck him slowly. It takes no more than three strokes for Jensen to feel something different than before.

“Oh… fuck yeah. Fuck, keep doing that.” In the back of his mind, somewhere beyond the thick thought-dulling arousal, is the knowledge of exactly what Misha is doing to him.  The tip of his cock slides in and presses up hard against the front wall of his vagina-on-loan and it’s the weirdest combination of ‘I’m gonna come’ and ‘I feel like I have to pee’.

The latter thought enough of a worry that he clams up, tensing and puts a hand out in a gesture that slows Misha down.

“What’s wrong?”

“I dunno… not sure exactly what I’m supposed to feel like here, kinda feel like I need to pee, but I don’t know. Does that make sense?” Talk about a turn off or what, but he’d rather ask than ignore it and have something truly unfortunate happen.

It’s a bit of a relief when Misha laughs at him. “Actually yes that’s normal. I know you’ve done this to Danneel--she’s a lot more forthcoming with the marital sexcapade stories than you are by the way. But still, you never asked her what it felt like?”

Jensen thinks back but can’t pull such a conversation from his memory and simply shrugs. During such “sexcapades” the only thing usually on his mind is fuuuuuuuuck.

“Jensen, trust me. I know very much what I’m doing.”

“Alright, fuck away.” Jensen stretches to the side and reaches down to smack Misha’s butt and is tempted to say giddy-up to bring back the memory of that one night at DallasCon. Man, that had been a fucking wild night: Cowboy boots, cowboy hat… toys. Good times…

Bent in half, Jensen is quickly reduced to nothing but broken gasps for precious oxygen, and unfinished curses. Waves of tension bring him closer to some form of end. And yeah, now he remembers. The elusive female ejaculation is what Misha’s trying to do here.

It’s impossible not to tense up each time he feels close, like he’s holding off or avoiding it altogether.

“Fu-uck, oh fuck. Fuck…” Jensen stammers, eyelids fluttering, the tip of Misha’s cock relentlessly pounding against the spot the makes him want to scream and cry at the same time. And what the hell is all the emotion tightening up his throat? Yeah, he’s in love with the guy, but it’s not often he gets sappy during the deed.

“Let go, Jensen,” insists Misha, rubbing along his skin and pushing his annoying hair out of his face.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs, not entirely paying attention, putting all his focus into not coming and not crying at the same time. Whatever the hell this orgasm is going to be, he knows it’ll dominate every sense he has, both inside and out.

“C’mon, I got you, just let go.” Mish reduces the pace and puts even more pressure on that one spot, bringing his thumb down to rub the top of his slit at the same time.

All at once, he can feel the rush of it. “Oh my god pull out!” he cries urgently, and Misha slides out and... _Holy_. _Motherfucking_. _Shit_.

“Jesus Christ!” he rasps out, his voice trembles as he feels a gush of liquid pour out of him. Before he can pull together a coherent thought, Misha is sliding back in and moving in him just as amazingly as before, and the orgasm beats through his body like an electric heartbeat that’s settled between his legs and he’s suddenly afloat in this marvelous high.

Running his fingers through his knotted hair, Jensen starts to laugh, and tears are leaking out his eyes and he’s got no idea if they’re laugh-tears or actual tears, and the room is spinning as though he’s upended about ten shots of Jack, and Misha is breathing hot into his neck and the choked-off grunts tell him that Misha’s close.

“...Love you,” Misha murmurs before he goes auspiciously quiet and still seconds before a long, deep groan is nearly shouted into Jensen’s eardrum. It’s not the first time Misha’s done that and he strokes Misha’s back as the man shudders and jerks in him, riding the peak of his release.

Knocking the wind out of him, Misha collapses on his chest—with his thighs still plastered to his ribs—and he realizes how goddamn heavy Mish is.

“You’re crushing me,” Jensen says with a strained voice, making poor attempts to bench press Misha’s chest up off his lungs.

The only response he gets is a lax groan and a nuzzle.

“Fine, I’ll just die… of oxygen… deprivation then,” he manages the words still struggling underneath.

“Mish!”

Sighing dramatically, Mish lazily pushes himself to the side and blindly reaches out to drag Jensen towards him. “C’mere.”

“The bed’s a disaster,” Jensen complains, trying to shift around, his calf sliding over wadded up underwear beneath the covers. The sheet and the comforter are twisted beyond recognition of what is up or sideways or down. Worse is the wet spot, and then the stickiness between his legs.

“Mish?”

“Mmghh?”

“I’m gonna go shower. Are you getting up?”

“Mmgh.” That’s a no then.

“Suit yourself.” Jensen throws the covers off, grinning when Misha grouses into the pillow. Before he settles the blankets back over his lover he doles out a good smack to his ass, barely getting a reaction. Fuck, they’ve been together way too long, he thinks. The elation that comes with mundane novelty in an early relationship has long since passed them.

In the shower, relishing the feel of the hot water dousing his matted hair, Jensen runs through every conceivable remedy to his predicament, ironically emphasized as he washes his boobs. It’s bewildering how quickly he’s gotten use to this body. There’s a modicum of pride or ownership over it that he feels now compared to the foreign absurdity that was this morning.

It requires copious quantities of conditioner to detangle the nest that has become his head and after all the whimpers and yanks and frustrations he vows to be extra nice to women with curly hair. Dried off and hair combed through he throws on Jodie’s supernatural t-shirt and climbs back into bed with a dumb measly grin, scooting over to wrap his smaller frame around Misha’s sleeping body. It’s slightly hilarious to be the big spoon in this situation, but old habits die hard.

Just as he’s halfway to sleep he remembers he’s supposed to take birth control. Thank God he’d already seen the packet on the nightstand between the beds. How weird would it be if Misha got him pregnant as a woman? Whose kid would that even be? Stowing the questions, Jensen pops the little blue pill and swallows it dry, before falling back into the mess of the bed and sidling up against Misha’s warmth, his small face buried between Mish’ shoulder blades.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Hey, wake up.” I nudge Izzy, who blearily rolls off my broad shoulder and wipes her lip in case she’d been drooling.

“Uh? ‘Time is it?” Izzy wonders and tries clumsily to stand.

“Early; around six. But we need to wake the guys up and get ready for today. I wanna do some asking around before events start up.”

She’s too tired to form words so Izzy nods and starts slogging down the hallway towards the elevators where they can head back to their room.

After seeing the debauched state of my bed, Jensen looks at the floor and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Misha, on the other hand, is parading around the room in boxers with utmost ease despite the bizarre situation they’ve found themselves in. It’s not as awkward as I’d expected.

The four of us get ready, me telling Jensen what to wear and helping him with my hair. Izzy and Misha are chatting away in the bedroom with him gleefully helping her choose an outfit for the day. Jensen and I roll our eyes at each other.

A quick jaunt up the guys’ room for me to switch out yesterday’s clothes for new ones and a quick trip the bathroom, we’re soon making our way to the lobby. The elevator ride down is filled with the trademarked Cockles eye love-making, and bouts of suggestions for our impending investigations.

It makes the most sense to split up into our respective roles: Fans and Actors. Before the elevator doors split open, Jensen throws Izzy and I threatening look and immediately leaps up into Misha’s arms and lays a hot kiss on him. The look was obviously meant to imply we shouldn’t dare laugh, but of course we do.

With a ping, the doors slide apart and I veer right out of the elevator and head towards the long hallway of conference rooms and larger spaces where the panels take place. Misha and I are going to hit up the staff for answers, while Izzy and Jensen jump between fan groups milling about.

Over an hour later, and minutes before the breakfast event, we’re empty-handed still. Crowds of people are now filing into the lobby and the back area of the building where most of the events are held.

In a low whisper, Jensen makes his frustrations clear. “This is fucking bullshit. How is it even possible that no one knows a damn thing. What the hell are we supposed to do!? We’ve got our panel and photo op today!” he says, looking up at Misha with longing that gives a sad look to his eyes.

“It’s fine. Jodie and I will have to get through it. There’s nothing else we can do. But try to immerse yourself in everything fandom. I think the general consensus we’ve reached is that the key to switching you guys back is by fully experiencing and acknowledging the trials associated with both of your…vocations.”

“Whatever,” pouts Jensen.

Misha takes a step in his direction and casts a look around to see how bad this might come off before he glares down at Jensen a near foot shorter now and utilizes nothing more than his blue eyes to ensure Jensen does what he says. Izzy and I share a conspirators look but manage to keep our giggles to ourselves.

“Ok!” Jensen throws his arms up. “Ya’ll win. I’ll, like, totes fangirl today. For the record, I’m a fanatical cockles shipper.” He makes a face at Misha and stomps off in the other direction.

The remaining three of us laugh at his expense. When it dies down, I ask them what I should do.

“Everything I tell you to do. Answer questions as best you can without saying much at all. Point is to be vague but still answer.”

Izzy snorts. “No wonder half your answers annoy me. What are you, politicians?”

Shrugging, Misha admits it’s not a farfetched analogy.

I hug her, much to the chagrin of the fans nearby and Misha and I head off to meet up with most of the other cast members. We’ve already decided to see what they know.

/\/\/\

Izzy finds him already in his seat, scrolling through the blue endless pages of tumblr in a poor attempt to immerse himself. It’s useless, though. All yesterday he’d ended up wading in the dark waters of fandom life, what more could he gain today? What damn difference does it make? What is he supposed to do, like start writing fanfiction about himself? “ _And then I sucked Misha off in my trailer and it was awesome…”_ Something that actually happened two weeks ago… but that’s entirely beside the point.

He can feel green eyes on him and pointedly avoids her open scrutiny.

“Can I say something?” Izzy asks politely.

Turning to her, he bluntly says, “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re not gonna like what I say.”

“I suppose I’ll be the judge of that.”

“The fandom is fucked.” No shit, he thinks. “And people are getting angry about the show, and about other fans. I don’t know what you--as long as you’re Jodie--can do, but you, _as you_ , can definitely make a difference.”

It’s an exhausted subject between the actors themselves and a groan of irritation narrowly escapes. “What, Izzy? What the hell can I possibly do? Ya’ll are capable human beings, most of you are adults, or close enough. Yeah, I get it’s a high school nightmare amongst you guys, but what exactly should I do? WIthin the realm of my limited capabilities? I don’t command the show, I very, very slightly influence a scene here and there. I can’t control people.”

She deadpans him, “No. But you can be an example for them. You can become a role model.”

Just the same as when Cas had said the line, Jensen pulls a face and looks away.

“You're already a beacon of strength for a lot of impressionable teenagers and young adults, all I’m saying is that you could expand that. You could step forward instead of turning a blind eye to the shit that goes on.”

Buttoning up the Dean-ish plaid shirt he’s wearing, he gives her a sideways look from the corner of his eye. The fans are filling up the seats, so he leans closer. “Yeah, and what if, in doing all that, I go and put my foot into my damn mouth.”

There’s a slight cringe as she’s no doubt reminded of saying exactly that before she’d realized who he actually was.

“Then own up and apologize. We’re all human.”

Patting his breasts comically, he says, “And some of us are occasionally women.”

“Hey now, stop groping my friend’s tits.”

Jensen makes a face at her. “I’m not groping!” Resting his palms across the top swell, he clarifies, “I’m using them as a shelf for my hands.”

Izzy throws her head back and laughs. “Enjoying the perks of womanhood, huh?”

Quirking his lip, he lists over to whisper in her ear. “Two words: Multiple orgasms.”

This throws Izzy into a fit of laughter and he’s sure she mentions something about not being able to wait to tell Jodie. Jensen attempts to muster up the guilt he should have over last night, but it’s simply not there. Swapping bodies truly does bring you closer to someone, and by that, he does mean Jodie. They’ve developed a peculiar intimacy that can’t be ignored and while it’s not sexual whatsoever, it’s a degree of interpersonal connection and comfort that is no doubt unprecedented and therefore, indescribable given its complexities and nuances. The only comparison he can settle on is the curiously romantic indifference that develops between two people that have been together for an extended period of time.

This isn’t to say there’s any romantic quality to their connection at all, but the same way he can shower and use the bathroom with complete disinterest, is comparable to the way he can swat Misha’s ass as hard as he can (granted, not as hard as before) and garner no reaction whatsoever. In the same avenue, he’s got no feelings one way or the other about Jodie doing whatever in his skin—within certain boundaries of course, considering he plans to get said body back. But her showering, or hell, even if she wanted to jack off, he doesn’t think he’d care. Not anymore, anyway.

It’s worrisome that they’re both reaching a level of comfort in this new reality. It amps up his growing need to find a way back.

/\/\/\

“Is it just me, or was that weird?” I ask Misha.

We’re huddled behind the large moveable wall that separates the back area from the stage and seating.

“No, it was weird,” confirms Misha, shooting a suspicious look to the crowd near the door. The crowd consists or Richard, Rob, and Felicia. A few others are out grabbing coffee. An earlier conversation had started out normal as normal can be.

And then Rich had asked if we’d gotten in a fight. “You guys seem a bit off, is everything okay?”

Misha had spoken up first, “Of course. We’re great. Heard a strange rumour though,” he began, “some tweet about a crazy person wanting to possess Jensen.”

Richard’s eyes had narrowed, a slight smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Oh yeah? _Interesting_ and really freaky-freaky. Definitely a new one.”

“Yeah, know anything about it?” I’d asked.

Richard laughed in a short abrupt burst. “Why would I? It’s crazy talk. Some loony-bin fan, nothing more.” And then he’d turned serious. “Though what an interesting idea, a fan and you trading places. I bet you’d both learn a lot,” he winked and shook his finger at me.

Misha and I both stared blankly. “Uh-huh.”

Now, waiting to head onto the stage and give a memorable performance of Cockles extraordinaire, I’m having a hard time not thinking about the odd notion that my situation isn’t the cause of a fan, but of one of the actors.

“Is there any chance Richard could be an actual Trickster and/or angel?” As ridiculous as it sounds coming out, the words are currently being uttered from my uber manly body, so I give the passing insanity of the sentence little attention.

“No.” Misha blinks, subtly shaking his head. “No way.” Then his eyes narrow. “I don’t know!  Last night I had vaginal sex with my boyfriend so my understanding of what’s possible has gotten a little fucked up here.”

“That’s my point! How are we supposed to sort out what’s real or not? The dick hanging annoyingly too much to the left between my legs is real. The quirky actor making funny faces at us right now could very well be something not human, but how the hell are we to know?! Unlike the penis-thing, having magical powers is a little less obvious!”

“ _Give a warm welcome to Misha Collins!”_ an announcer calls from the other side of the partition wall.

“We’ll figure it out. When you get out there, just follow my lead.” Misha pats my cheek and jogs up the steps and slides through the gap near the end of the wall.

A moment later, my borrowed name is called out and I walk out trying to muster up the necessary energy needed to make it through a whole hour in front of a shit-ton of people.

Misha, gratefully, makes it effortless. I’m relieved when the time seems to be flying by, the minutes carrying laughter and jokes, and me barely having to say anything concrete. The first crack in the performance is the unidentifiable voice from the crowd that shouts, “Make-out! Make-out!”

Instantly, there’s an awkwardness that we both try to ignore. Even a few of the other fans seem shocked by it. In the back of my mind, I wonder if this is the type of discomfort some fans had promised to unleash on Jensen for “behaving inappropriately.”

I’m half tempted to stomp over to Misha and suck his damn face off. The look I’m getting from him conveys that would be an unwise plan of action.

The comment is ultimately ignored. Unfortunately, it isn’t the last. After the third unwarranted heckle, the fan is discreetly removed.

The carefree tenor of the panel is now shot to shit. We’re supposed to be doing some kind of skit, but I’m more than distracted. I can’t stand the scrutiny, like they’re all over-analyzing my actions to see the effect the fan’s comments have had on me. It’s infuriating. I make good use of my man-jaw with some teeth grinding.

Misha’s close by and leans over to whisper, he pretends he’s laughing, or perhaps saying something clever, but it’s in fact a brief pep-talk. “Relax, just shake it off.”

The photo ops are twenty minutes after the panel is done and I’m more eager for that than this monkey show.

/\/\/\

Jensen’s stuck in the centre of an irate group of fans all weighing in with their own brand of disbelief and hatred that some idiot would shout out these things. The tumblr, as he’d checked himself, is currently inundated with hate. The worst of which directed at so-called Cockles shippers, and yet _they_ seem to believe another subgroup of the fandom was the cause. He wants to say it’s all ridiculous and that he’s gotten worse from fans, though maybe not as publicly, when he’s thrown for a loop the moment he scrolls down and sees actual posts of people telling other people to “Just go kill yourself, you trashy deluded piece of shit.”

Is this for real? he wonders. There are actual people within the Supernatural family that are actually putting something like that out there in the world. He’s baffled. More so, he’s pissed off. The user who’d gotten the “anon” happens to be standing next to him and he hears her relay that it’s only one of the many she’s gotten.

Jensen asks her why. They all stop and look at him like its obvious. Yes, he’s aware of what happened, but why would it warrant such insane behaviour?

“The internet is filled with hateful, unhappy souls that terrorize everyone else under the perceived safety of anonymity.” Sighing, she continues, “There’s no reason, really. Yeah, what happened before is the trigger for it, but there’s no justifiable _reason_. Haven’t you ever gotten anon hate for the sole reason of shipping a ship?”

Strapped for the right answer, he shrugs.

“We all knew some kind of BS would happen sooner or later. The joy of many is being gradually squandered by some cranky twats,” says a girl with spiky, dark short hair.

“Most of us are just happy people that enjoy being nice to others and want to ship the ships we ship without getting backlash for the things we like,” another chimes in, her voice strained as she holds her arms high above her head while she quickly bundles her hair into an artful ball and wraps an elastic around it.

“How do you do that?!” he asks, staring intently at the perplexing construction of the hair-do that he simply can’t figure out. It’s exactly why he stays far away from JJ’s hair ties and barrettes. Danneel knows his limitations in that department.

“Do what?”

“Nevermind,” says Jensen, it’s not like he plans to stay this way. Damn, he really hopes that’s true.

/\/\/\

“My face hurts.” I tense my cheeks downward in an exaggerated frown to try and stretch out the stiffness in my face.

“You could always scowl at the camera. Jensen often does that,” Misha reminds me.

That’s true. The next pic I pretend to be grumpy Jensen, and it’s kinda fun I suppose. I’m getting tired though. From the horsing around with Izzy the night before, and the few hours of sleep I managed to get on the hallway floor, the point of exhaustion I’m beginning to reach is acute.

“You look about ready to crawl into bed,” Misha teases, mid photo. It’s the wrong thing to stay with attentive ears nearby.

Misha’s reminded of this when there’s an audible giggle from the girl between us. The picture snaps, she whips back and gives us this elated, ginormous, knowing grin.

“Look what ya did.” I’m shaking my head, though Misha seems to think its hilarious.

“It’s not like I said _my_ bed,” he clarifies.

“If you’d said that, she would’ve fainted in our arms.”

“Probably,” agrees Misha.

The next two girls are nervously making their way up to us. One of them is wearing a wicked Cas t-shirt that I’ve never seen, her blonde hair is long and straight and she’s got broad, expressive features that are the kind suited to telling stories. Her friend, the taller of the two, is a near replica, though her hair is more on the side of authentic and her features are sharper and set into an oval face. Both of them are teeming with unspent energy and I imagine, had the whole body-swap business not happened, they’re acting exactly the way I would’ve been. 

They’re short on words, either from nervousness or a facet of their personality, it’s hard to say. Still, they squeeze in between us and ask us to pretend that they’re trying to tear us apart. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Misha winks at me and says, “Come and get me,” in a wolfish drawl.

One of them screeches and I’m tempted to remind him that he should probably limit his flirting considering I’m not his actual boyfriend, and it’s bound to stir up shit anyway.

Jensen, hilariously enough, is next in line. Izzy is waiting behind him. I’d expected him to find the whole experience a bit funny, but instead he looks aggravated beyond assistance.

In a low voice, Misha asks him what’s wrong.

“They’re telling people to kill themselves,” he blurts harshly.  “Oh and apparently there’s been some cockles flirting during the photo ops,” he adds in a snide remark, giving us both a lip curl.

Misha shakes his head and pulls Jensen into a hug as casually an embrace as he can manage and I hear him tell Jensen not to worry. Jensen angles his head back to look at me and I’m surprised when he asks what I want?

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s your photo op. Just because you’re me and I’m you doesn’t mean you can’t get the pic you want.”

I hadn’t even had time to think about it. I’d been turning over ideas all week, but after the swaperoo, I forgot about it completely.

“I have no idea.”

Around us, the camera dude and the nearby security, along with some of the people in line are getting annoyed at the girl that’s been up there so long.

Jensen makes a gruff noise and moves away from Misha and shoves me against him instead. “Do something gross and couply.”

We stare at him.

“ _What_?!” he snaps. “Might as well really stir shit up, right?!” Now people are definitely looking. Misha has to wave off the security who’d been on their way to investigate the hold up.

“Jensen, you need to chill.”

“And you need to stop being so damn tempting in public!” Jensen retorts. “Now,” he looks at me, “pretend you're me, throw your arms around his waist and make googly eyes at him.”

A bit hesitantly, Misha and I do as asked and I’m struck breathless when Misha whips out the look of adoration he normally saves for Jensen; it’s a knee-weakening, heart melting gaze and I think to myself that Jensen never stood a chance with this one.

The camera snaps and, on impulse, I pull Jensen into a hug before he trudges off angrily. “You’re only seeing the worst of it, I promise.”

Momentarily distracted from his anger he stares up at me, caught up in some thought of his own. “So are you,” he tells me. The exchange carries a heavier impact than it should, and I need a moment to process what it all means. The momentary rumination grows into a larger philosophical inspection that I’m at a loss to figure out.

Izzy bounces over to us and crashes into my side, “Hey friend!” The disruption sets my brain back on track.

“Sorry you’re not getting a true Cockles op,” I tell her with regret.

“No worries, there’ll be more cons.”

Between the three of us, we decide on a pose, and it’s Misha and I holding her up between us as though our arms are a chair for her, we kiss her cheeks and dub her the Cockles Queen. Misha grabs her arm as she’s about to head off and asks her to keep an eye on ‘her friend.’

After the last op, I make it clear that I’m in need of a flat, level surface where I can pass out for a minimum of an hour.

“Not possible.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“You have a photo op with Jared when he’s done in a few minutes, and then you have a panel with Jared, too. After that, we’ve got an hour break, and then the dinner thing, and then the closing stuff.”

“I hate you.” I’ve got the shakes from being overtired and I’m cranky, and on the highway to outright bitch if I don’t get a shred of unconscious bliss soon. Another possibility is I’ll simply break down into sobs on stage. I hope that’s not the outcome.

“I never got a J2 photo op, so if you’re free, you might as well go find Jensen, he’s clearly fed up.”

“Can’t. Got an op with Richard, Rob and Matt.”

Right… “Hey, try to find out if Richard is, ya know, not natural.”

“You mean, Supernatural?” asks Misha with a dry tone.

As tired as I am, I chuckle cause I’m oh-so-hilarious and start heading off with Cliff behind me, Misha lightly jogging in the other direction to make to his own op.

/\/\/\

Jensen’s waiting for Izzy to be done with her Felicia photo op, since he’s just had his. It had been weird to pretend he didn’t know her the way he does. The speed of the ops leave him with whiplash and from hearing Izzy talk about the costs of the con over the weekend, he can’t believe that people love the show enough to spend so much of their hard-earned money to get thirty seconds of time with actors you look up to. It gives weight to the perceived importance of the show. It’s not that he hasn’t had people say the show’s been a beacon of hope for them in dark times, but hearing a story like that, and being immersed in the fandom in such an intimate way are entirely different experiences, and the latter leaves a deeper impression on him.

Izzy is lightly jogging over to where he’s standing by the back wall and the doors to the hallway. There’s no doubt a tired scowl permanently stuck to his face and when she finally comes within reach, she doesn’t hesitate to throw her arms around his shoulders.

“You looked like you could use a hug,” she says.

Jensen doesn’t deny the warmth and comfort feels good. In fact, he could do with another hair playing session if he had the balls to ask. Though, considering the charade is now out in the open, he probably couldn't slip back into the role of her friend, with all the included perks.

They run into Misha and Jodie heading down the hall, and Jensen heads toward Mish, gesturing him over to a quieter spot over by the wall.

/\/\/\

The whole bodyswap deal really put a damper on Izzy and I’s con weekend and it’s a nice break in events that we get to have a quick chat--even with the evil looks she’s getting from being the rare opportunity to have some private conversation with Jensen.

We comment on the craziness of what’s happened but I can tell there’s something whirling in her head, and by the slant of her mouth, it’s clear whatever’s going on in the head of hers isn’t good. I ask her outright, “What’s bugging you?”

She chews her lip and shrugs, reluctant to bring up whatever is on her mind. I give her a hard look, “Izzy.”

Angling up to meet my eyes, she shrugs aggressively this time. “It’s not the time.”

“Fuck that. Talk to me,” I demand.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to see what Jensen and Misha are up to, she turns back and huffs before getting out whatever’s on her mind. “I was sort of mad at you, before I realized that you weren’t you.”

“Jensen did something?” I surmise.

Rolling her eyes, Izzy _pffts_ inelegantly. “You could say that. I thought it was you and I was too shocked to say anything back at the time, but now it’s just eating away at me.”

“What’d he do, or say?”

Immediately, she stands straighter, squaring herself off defensively. “Ok, so Saturday morning at the big panel, ya know how that one person asked about the shows representation and official comments on being labeled as queerbaiting?” I nod. “And Jared was all,” Izzy lowers her voice in imitation, “‘The show is about two brothers, and it’s not about love, bla, bla bla.’ I got real pissed, sick and tired of that goddamn line that the show is pigeonholing themselves as two super straight, super white brothers with no real growth or development at all. Anyway, I may or may not have said something a bit rude about Jared. Jensen, who at the time I thought was you, was like ‘Don’t hate on Jared, he’s right, the show’s not some platform for queer representation,’ and he said it all indifferent ya know, like who gives a shit about them queers and their representation.” 

I’m gaping at her with my mouth nearly on the floor in disbelief. “He _actually_ said the show isn’t some platform for queer representation?” She nods with her lips pressed together.

“Shit. I’m surprised you didn’t whack him.”

“You and me both. And yeah, I thought it was you, and it really hurt, and even knowing now that it was Jensen, it still hits home that they don’t seem to care that representation isn’t some passing fad of media that shows can either choose or not choose to jump on the bandwagon of, but that’s a seriously important component of societal growth, and more so… it means a lot to _me_.”

“I know.” I hug her, and as I’m pulling away, I can see Misha and Jensen coming back over. Part of me really wants to smack Jensen, but the outward appearance of that would likely get me in trouble.

I do, however, lean towards him and growl the following words, “What the hell is wrong you!?” Judging by the dumb look on his— _my—_ face it’s clear the whole thing passed over his head from the day before and he’s got no idea of the grievance he caused.

/\/\/\

Jensen’s stupefied as he watches Jodie and Misha walk away to the next event. Izzy’s standing by his shoulder, but she’s not meeting his eye.

“What’d I do?” he asks.

Izzy deadpans him without a word. She reaches towards his face and tucks back loose hairs that evidently can’t be tamed. “You said something that upset me the other day.”

Shit. “What’d I say?” Knowing the way he ‘puts his foot in his mouth’ it could be any number of poorly chosen remarks.

Asking what he did is clearly the wrong way to go since she gruffly scowls at him and heads off in the other direction. Friggin’ women, Jensen thinks. He straightens his t-shirt over the top of his jeans and then chases after her.

“Hey c’mon,” Jensen pleads as they’re walking through the open double-doors. “I get it, I can be a jerk sometimes. Cut me some slack.”

Izzy waits till they’re seated before she turns to face him. “When we were at the panel yesterday, you basically said you didn’t give a shit about representation, acting like it didn’t matter.”

Instantly, his face heats up and he can feel knots in his stomach. He stumbles long enough in search for words, that she ends up continuing.

“It matters to a lot of people, and it matters to me. This show isn’t exempt from illustrating a clear snapshot of society. Like any other show, like life for that matter, you need to evolve. And you can’t do that by ignoring certain realities because some snotty execs are scared of pissing off some small component of douchey turds.”

Jensen swallows. “I guess… I dunno. Maybe I only ever saw things from my point of view… May-maybe that’s a bit limited. I never had an invested sense of responsibility.”

“Shouldn’t you, though? I mean, what you have with Misha, has that never broadened your sense of, I dunno, seeing the problems inherent with how the show is and has continued to maintain its strict white-hetero-man status quo? And, fuck, even on top of that, why would you _not_ push for a little Dean/Cas action?”

Jensen offers a faint smile. “Yeah, I kinda do want that for personal reasons of course. But honestly, I’m a really simple guy and I guess I had a narrow view of what the show was and could be. I had these boundaries in my head, and I never thought it was necessary to broaden that, or that I thought it could be done well.”

Izzy considers his point of view, and though there’s a bit of commotion around them that indicates the panel’s about to start, she leans in to say, “I suppose SPN’s capability of offering representation and doing it well are without a doubt _vastly_ different notions.”

Jensen nods agreeably.

“Still… I know you’ve had a different life, I know you can’t ever fully understand, but this is important, and there is a reason this show means a lot to people. They have these hopes of seeing something triumph that is unfortunately very rare. It would be an incredible thing. It would make such a difference, it would put SPN out there in such a great way! Honestly.”

“And by all that you mean, Mish and I gettin’ it on on TV?”

Izzy laughs guiltily, “That’s just an added benefit.” They share a peaceful smile between them, and though Jensen’s getting it that there’s a lot more to why the show’s important, and more or less, that he might have a responsibility to it, it’s still hard for him to wrap his head around the devotion and emotional investment that so many people have for this show.

As Richard gets up on stage, Jensen can’t help but think of the quote from Spiderman, ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ As insane as it might seem, he might be starting to get it. All of it… Sitting there in the commercially suitable blue-patterned corduroy padded chairs, Jensen looks around and absorbs the collective rapture of the fans. Each and every one of them has parts of their lives that might be looking to their measly show to give them something to cling to, to relate to, to find hope in.

Not only all that, but his own ignorance nearly fucked up a friendship. And not because of something out of his control, but because he lacked empathy. He'd gone and shit all over something really important to someone.

The ability to motor along with idle indifference wouldn't work for him anymore. Realistically, Jensen knew he could never tell the network or the showrunners what to do, but that didn't mean he had to be party to their misguided efforts at placating the entire fandom. Jensen isn't sure what exactly he can do, but he sure as hell knows nothing isn't the answer.

Nearing the closing of the panel, he turns to Izzy. "I am really sorry by the way. For being a dick about stuff. I was ignorant. It's not an excuse… just the truth. And yeah… I'm sorry."

/\/\/\

I’m on stage with Jared, and it’s nearing the end of our joint panel. Before we’d gone up on stage, Jared had asked me what was wrong. Because if there’s anyone that would know there was something off about Jensen other than Misha it would definitely be him. I’d given a lame excuse of being exhausted and hungry--which, arguably--I was. I added the some BS that I haven’t felt right all weekend. Same as Misha, Jared immediately became even more concerned, suggesting that maybe I was coming down with something. Features softening, the guy promised to field as much of the questioning as he could.  Thank you, Jesus. It was exactly what I’d needed.

So far everything’s gone well, and Jared had made a joke about me having a hangover. The excuse seemed to be accepted, and I’m glad that I don’t have to try as hard. Someone’s just asked about Jared getting stabbed in the leg, and thankfully I've watched enough con videos to play-act my way through holding the mic like a knife as Jared hugs on me and the audience goes nuts over the physical contact. Finally sitting again, I see the handler off to the side motion for one last question.

A voice with a northern European accent asks, “This question is for the both of you. My friends and I have been wondering about this, especially since Inside Man brought up Bobby’s Heaven. Back during Dark Side of the Moon, when Dean and Sam died and went to Heaven, did they share the same Heaven?”

Oh shit. I’d heard rumors of the potential for a soulmates question being asked, but I didn’t think someone would actually pull it off. But it’s been carefully worded to clear screening. I clear my throat, and look over at Jared. His eyebrows are scrunched together as he thinks. All on you buddy, I think.

“Wow, that’s been a while. Why do you ask?” Good, he’s stalling for time instead of blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

I look toward the woman asking the question as she explains, “You were both on the same road together, and you both saw the garden as the same. Not to mention, Ash said you were in Winchesterland.” The face behind the microphone looks smug, as if she is expecting only one outcome.

There’s no way I’m going to give her the satisfaction, and in a rare jolt of boldness, I bring up my mic and glance to Jared, letting him know I’ve got this one.

“Well, I’m not the writer, but I think it was pretty clear that we had different heavens.” There’s a murmur in the crowd, and I keep going. “I mean, Dean’s and Sam’s experiences were pretty different, right? After all, Sam’s were all moments without Dean. And Dean... he had to follow Cas’ directions to find his brother in the first place.” I look at Jared, desperately hoping he picks up the hint. Thankfully, he’s had enough time to think about it.

“Yeah, I think so too.” Jared lightly smacks my arm, “Wasn’t that the one where you wore the ‘I Wuv Hugs’ shirt?” I smile and nod, glad that Jared fell in line with my answer. He continues, “Besides, it’s not like we can film two different versions at the same time, right? There are limitations.” He babbles on a bit more, and I glance over at the woman who asked the question, as she keeps a tight, fake smile plastered on.

And that’s the end of the panel. I’m glad to finally get off stage, and hope to have a few minutes to myself.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Are you okay?" asks Misha.

We're sitting in an adjacent room, the closing event in T-minus ten minutes and we haven't yet figured out a way to switch back. My flight is in less than two days.

"No."

"If at the absolute end, nothing has happened. We're gonna have to make an announcement."

As he surely expected, I swivel my head sideways and raise my eyebrows.

"Crazy or not, it's the only way," he argues.

"I'm sorry but I'd much rather stay as Jensen than wind up in a mental hospital."

"That wouldn't happen."

"Hell yes it would. Anyway, I keep trying to think like him, trying to grasp you guys' way of life. And fuck, it's tiring, it's annoying, I frequently want to smack people, and I feel awful about lying to you yesterday. It sucked watching you question your relationship with Jensen."

Misha rests his chin on the top of his fist, elbow to his knee. "That's not your fault. I get insecure easily. No one would ever know!" he laughs. "But in all seriousness, being apart the way we often are, it has its own set of problems."

"I bet. I'm sorry, ya know, about the fans making it hard for you guys."

"Eeeh," Misha shrugs. "It could be worse."

/\/\/\

Jensen's gearing up for the final closing event, and his thoughts are clouded by aimless purpose. He knows there's something he needs to do to fix this—and not only his current predicament. The frustrating part is that he can't figure out what.

"Are you coming?" asks Izzy. She's pulled her hair into a looped ponytail on the top of her head and it bobs when she moves.

In a practiced mannerism, he rubs his smaller palm across his face. "Yeah… yeah. I'm coming. Be in a minute."

It's another minute under her open scrutiny before he finds himself alone. The fans are all piling into the room, some brushing past, some out of reach. They're almost all taller than he is. Standing there, mostly unseen, isn’t something he's used to. It astounds him to see all these people, from so many walks of life, taking time and money to be here.

It's important.

What they do is more than a show… Jensen can’t believe it took him so incredibly long to finally get it.

In an abrupt motion, he reaches back for the phone in his jeans pocket and pulls up his own number.

' _Call me up to the stage.'_

Waiting for an answer, Jensen taps the phone against his palm and bounces his right foot.

' _Whatever you want.'_ Jodie replies back.

Here goes nothin'…

/\/\/\

I lock the iPhone and turn to Misha. "Jensen wants me to call him up on stage."

A line creases between Misha's brows. "That'll be interesting. What is he planning to say?"

I shrug. "No idea. But I have to let him. Maybe he's discovered something."

There's people already out on stage and Misha and I are still standing behind a partition, waiting until the last minute, hoping for a miracle.

The last minute comes and goes and we're left without options. The rest of the cast that haven't made there way up corral around us, and before I know it we're on stage. The final event.

My stomach drops. I'm nervous for a multitude of reasons. Mostly, I don't want to remain as someone else—all the attention, the having to hide who you are, it's not my style.

Everyone's smiling, cameras are flashing. The lights are bright. Rob is speaking. When he turns back to me, his eyes locked, it takes me a second to realize I'm supposed to be saying something. A mic is placed into my hand. Misha nods faintly to my right.

"Uh, hey…ya'll. It's b-been great." All those faces zeroed in on me is nerve-wracking more than ever before. There's more than what I should be saying, but it's not coming to me. I opt to ramble aimlessly in the hopes that a point of some sort will present itself. "Actually? You know what? This con has, in some ways, been a first for me. I know that sounds messed up, and I'd explain if I could but I just want to say that what _we_ do, the actors I mean, and the crew, it's… harder at times than anyone realizes." I take a moment to look at Misha, thinking back on the near miss of screwing up their relationship. "These cons are important. They bring us closer, and I think that's important… even if… even if there are difficulties. But we're family, in the end. And," I scan the crowd for a very recognizable face, "in light of a recent event, some of us have decided to elect a… umm… a con valedictorian of sorts."

There's murmuring in the crowd, and some surprised glances from members of the cast.

I nod towards Jensen and beckon him up to the stage. The confidence with which he stands and makes his way over is reminiscent of his occupation. It's strange seeing it take shape in my form.

Silently, wondering what exactly he plans to say, I pass the mic to him. Moving to stand beside Misha, we exchange an uncertain look with one another.

Jensen stares out over the crowd, not out of nervous tension or because he's befuddled, but perhaps to let the moment sink in for himself.

When he finally speaks, I nearly wish the voice was his true one. The words would resonate, they'd have greater presence in the room than mine.

"We are supposed to be family," he begins. "But as Dean said to Crowley, family doesn't end with blood, and it most certainly doesn’t start there either. Family can be whatever you choose. It's about what you do, and how you act. We're all here because we share something. Some of us are on one side, the rest on another. And within all that, we're not supposed to be at each others throats. We're supposed to support each other—not matter what anyone believes. I, uh, I have a very good friend, Izzy, who helped me understand just how important this show is. Being here, meeting and talking to all of you, it opened my eyes. The… actors of the show, the cast, are great. But they aren't us. They don't absorb the show the way we do. I think it's taken a while to reach a balance. To know what's important. To know that something can be greater than its apparent worth. I'm up here because I want to ensure that the family we started out as, is the family we end with. That this… incredible dynamic that's been created between us, and the fa— them, it's so damn important. We're all here because something has changed our lives. Maybe not directly, maybe not even in a huge, remarkable way, but we're different because of it nonetheless. And that means something."

As Jensen breaks off his speech, I feel the earth lurch below my feet. By the way he whips back to look at me, I know he's felt it too.

The ground shakes again and I nearly lose my balance. A swirling in the pit of my stomach kicks the breath out of my lungs. My head flips back and I feel as though I black out.

/\/\/\

Blinking his eyes back into consciousness. Jensen's perception is wildly altered. No longer is he facing out over the crowd. From his natural height, and projection, his vision is settled on Jodie. With her hand still clutching the mic, she turns to him and smiles.

By the vacant, impatient expression around them, it's clear they're the only ones who felt the transition. The first thing Jensen does is turn towards Misha.

In the quietest whisper, he says, "Things are about to change."

Stepping towards the front of the stage, he moves in to stand behind Jodie and throws his arm around her shoulders and snatches the mic away with his other hand.

"To add to that, I want to say that all of ya'll are incredible, and passionate, and you're not wrong. And maybe it's not my place to step in, maybe it is. I don't know. Maybe I'll get in serious shit for saying any of this, but the fighting needs to stop. Ya know, for the longest time I didn’t get it—why it was so important. But then, after meeting a vibrant, understanding pink-haired girl, I realized that not only is all of this important—the show I mean—it's essential. It's—there's a purpose in it. A greater purpose. And the stupid thing is, I think Misha and some of the others have kind of known this, ya know, for a long time. I get that I'm rambling, I don't mean to. But yeah, getting back to my point. What we do, in the show, outside of the show, it matters more than I ever realized. The show has a responsibility. It's only a show, I used to think. A great one, a great job. But it can be better than that. It can be something for everyone, and still be the utter badass show that it is. It can be the avenue through which anything is possible, like, say for example… relationships that, uh, haven't had the light of day that maybe they should've. I bet ya'll are thinking I'm talking about Dean and Cas." Jensen grins. "Actually… I'm not. Unfortunately that's not exactly my call. I will say this… after a lengthy educational experience, I can fully say that… ya'll ain't crazy. But anyway, getting back to this, uh, relationship." Jensen presses his lips together. The notion he came up here with is a big one. It's a crazy thing, but it would be such a relief. For everyone, he thinks.

"Much like any relationship, honesty is…the best policy." He laughs. "And on that note…"

Jensen wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and turns to his left. Three steps away, Misha's eyes are on him with a blatant sense of shock and nervous anticipation. Forcing his legs to leave their safe spot, he closes the short distance between them and moves in for the kill.

Misha's jaw unhinges with shock as Jensen's mouth claims his lips. An eruption of hollers and cheers deafens the room but all he can feel is Mish' response. The smile he feels against his mouth, the arms that spring up to wrap around his neck. Smiling back through the kiss, Jensen squeezes his torso and lifts Mish right up off the floor. Their bodies mesh and he deepens the kiss, selfishly raking in the touch he's been denied. Yes, they were together the night before, but not as him and not this honestly.

It feels like forever has passed them by when they finally break away from each other. Though, not entirely. Jensen's hand slides down the length of Misha's arm and captures his hand. Because he can.

Through all the whistles and catcalls, Jensen finally manages to wave down the chaos to a lower decibel level. Raising the mic to his mouth he ends his speech.

"You guys are family… and frankly, I'm sick of lying to family." There's a double meaning, or more so, an exact meaning in that phrase he won't elaborate on. _Surprise, Dad!_

Misha shifts towards him and buries his face into the crook of Jensen's neck. The soft, damp press of lips in a chaste kiss against his throat gives him honest-to-god butterflies.

"From now on, we all have to be good to each other. Because without that, we've lost the whole purpose of the show. And maybe this show will crap out in a year. Maybe it won't. For now, let's just make the best of it. Let's kick some ass!"

The room cheers, and his eyes catch Izzy's in the crowd. She's beaming. Jodie has already jumped off the stage to go enjoy the moment with her friend. They deserve it after the whirlwind of a weekend straight out of a supernatural episode.

Much of the cast is ripping out jokes and teases. Not Misha though. The wild and free actor is still stuck to Jensen's side, arm across his belly, face nestled close to his neck. It's the best Jensen's felt in weeks.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks.

Misha shifts to stand in front him; his laugh is a relieved one. "No. God, no. I'm fucking thrilled."

"Look, I may not be able to make Dean and Cas a thing—something I'm now convinced needs to happen. I mean the evidence is pretty substantial. But, I sure as hell have the power to fix this ridiculous situation." Brushing his thumb across Misha's lower, plump lip he moves in for another kiss. A hotter one, sliding his tongue in for a taste. The moan he's graced with is nothing short of sinful and certainly not appropriate for their current situation.

It's nearly painful to pull back—especially now that there's no fear of discovery tampering his urges—but he does. Placing a finger across Misha's lips, he whispers, "Hold that thought."

/\/\/\

Back to my former self, I bound towards my friend, practically jumping in the air. She squeals when I crash into her, and I'm nearly shouting in her ear. "Holy shit! Can you believe this craziness?!" Like the rest of the room, people are flipping out. The best part? Everyone (or mostly everyone) is happy and full of unhampered joy. The ones that don’t have smiles on their faces are few and far between, and they’re ignored. Because god-fuckin-dammit happiness should always win out. 

"Glad to be back to yourself?" she asks.

I throw my arm onto her shoulder and lean out of exhaustion. "Fuck dude you have no idea. I never, ever want to be an actor. They've got a lot going on. I hope this whole thing actually ends up changing things, that it really means something in the end. I know it's too naïve to hope that the fandom wars will stop, but man, that would be something, wouldn’t it?"

Izzy looks at me with this knowing look. "Maybe they will. Maybe this did change things."

It’s a wonderful sentiment. And perhaps she'll end up being right.

…

Later that night, sometime past eleven, myself, Izzy, Jensen and Misha have wound up at a pub. Our chairs are pulled close and we're laughing endlessly and chatting generously over the insanity of the last forty-eight hours.

Izzy and Misha have hit it off and their mutual love for all things wild and weird has made them instant comrades. Jensen and I, on the other hand, are a little more subdued in the aftermath. Both of us sneaking glances at the other, as if we're trying to sort things out in our heads.

"I may never fully believe it happened. But I gotta say, being a fan is tough. And you should know, ya'll are more than that. Really."

I grab my beer in one hand and punch Jensen in the shoulder with the other. "Shucks, dude."

"Shut up," he teases. "So, do you think what I did was crazy?"

I nod eagerly. "Yes, but good crazy. Be yourself and we'll be us and it's all good."

"That's the hippiest piece of advice ever."

"What is?" Misha leans in, his face reddened with recent laughter. Izzy is chatting on the phone behind him.

"Oh, right up your alley, Mish. Jodie was just saying to be ourselves and everything's gonna be alright."

"It's good advice!" I boast. "Who's Izzy talking to?"

Misha winks and smiles. "My wife."

Both Jensen and I roll our eyes.

The rest of the night is filled with laughter, friendly banter, and an equilibrium between two worlds that had never really found common ground before. Not like this.

With the booze travelling through my system, and the exhaustion making me giggly, I find my thoughts running back to the Freaky Friday absurd event that brought all this on in the first place.

Not long after, a bunch of the cast and some fans stride into the bar, and instead of everyone sticking to their boxed-in vocations, people mingle and chat. And though some of the conversations naturally edge towards the show, the lessening of tension between the groups opens up the discourse towards more common topics. The four of us at the centre of it all take in the change…

Izzy was right, maybe things have changed.

As the night winds down, and the two men have started to get handsy with each other we politely advise them it might be time they head back to the hotel. Izzy and I are paying for our drinks when I turn to her.

“I wonder who did it.”

She pauses with her change clutched in her hand as confusion levels her features. “Huh, I guess we’ll never know.”

/\/\/\

Outside in the chilled night, with the stone walkway under his shoes, Rob passes by the pub with a smile. He can hear the laughter inside, and sense the mingled conversations that turn the room into a big murmur of noise.

“That’ll do,” he says. And with a snap of his fingers, he’s gone.


End file.
